


The Thief and the Duke

by PenguinMerchant



Category: Captive Prince - C. S. Pacat
Genre: Alternate Universe - Victorian, Fake/Pretend Relationship, M/M, Sharing a Bed, Slow Burn, Sort Of, That's right, ish, no csa, the Regent's still an asshole though
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-06
Updated: 2020-05-21
Packaged: 2021-03-02 02:53:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 73,670
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23527963
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PenguinMerchant/pseuds/PenguinMerchant
Summary: Lord Damianos is the disinherited son of a Duke who knows that his brother Kastor had something to do with him being written out of his father's will.  When he accidentally runs into Laurent, the best safe-cracker in London, he sees an opportunity to figure out the truth about what his brother did to him.  All he needs is for Laurent to pretend to be his fiancé in order to get him access to the highest echelons of society, get him to open a few safes, and restore what is his.Things don't quite go as planned.
Relationships: Damen/Laurent (Captive Prince)
Comments: 219
Kudos: 245





	1. The Gentleman Thief

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is my highly indulgent, excessively melodramatic Victorian(ish) AU. If you are someone who is a stickler for historical accuracy oh god please turn away now. This takes place in the nineteenth century (no more questions please) and also same sex marriage is legal and totally acceptable, to give you an idea of what's happening here. That being said I'm super proud of it, it's the longest thing I've ever finished writing and I'm really excited to get to share it with you fellow CaPri fans. I hope you enjoy!

_2nd floor. Deer. Rug._

Aside from an address that's all the information Laurent has, but he's used to that kind of cryptic nonsense. He's had to do more with less. He burns the note after reading it once and he replays the message over and over in his head, a mantra that he uses to steady his nerves. Not that he is _that_ nervous. This is a fairly standard job, all things considered, but even fairly standard jobs have enough dangers in them to make a careful man at least a little nervy.

He makes his way through downtown London, blending in with the sea of late afternoon traffic. Delivery boys rush by him, weaving in and out of the crowd effortlessly, and couples walk arm in arm down the street oblivious to any other pedestrians. Some of the merchants call out promises of cheap wares and affordable baubles to the better dressed people walking by, and the better dressed people do their best to seem uninterested. Laurent's wearing his best frock coat today in hopes that it will be good enough to allow him to slip in with the rest of the guests when he gets to his destination, but none of the merchants call out to him and he sighs as he realizes that he's going to need a new plan. And a new frock coat. 

But since plans were free and frock coats were not it meant that only one of them was in the cards for him tonight. And hopefully doing well at the former would enable him to afford the latter--after Uncle got his cut, of course. And after he bought Nicaise new shoes. And after they paid the rent. And after they bought fuel for their heater, since even though it was almost spring it got cold enough at night that all the blankets in the world couldn't keep them from shivering...

With another sigh Laurent resigns himself to one more season with this coat, and hurries toward his destination. It's almost 7, and he has work to do.

***

By 10:30, Laurent is ready. He's been watching for hours, measuring the ebb and flow of the party and looking for the cracks that will let him slip in and out unnoticed. He knows which one he wants to exploit tonight and he walks around to the side entrance, the one that has been a constant beehive of activity--a kind of frantic buzz that is in direct contrast to the lazy sort of energy coming from the front -- and he slips in through the gate he knows by now is unlocked. The mansion probably employs dozens of servants but even more have been hired for the night to ensure that all of the guests are well taken care of, which is fortunate for him and the reason he's here on this particular evening. Laurent sees two of the hired help taking a break in the courtyard, both more interested in the quick solace they can find in each other than in him, and luckily they've also helpfully divested themselves of their outer garments which means Laurent not only gets to easily pick up an extra coat but also gets to choose the one that looks like it might actually fit. He slips the coat on and walks into the kitchen, pretending like he knows where he's going.

"Hey, you!" Someone calls out to him. He ignores it, keeping up his pace. If he can just get out of the kitchen and into the main hall--

Someone grabs his elbow. Laurent spins, and comes face to face with a very harried looking man. He's wearing gold and red livery, which means he is probably employed by the lord of the manor and not one of the help hired for the evening, and he sneers at Laurent.

"No one walks out there without a tray," he says, shoving a tray full of tiny hors d'oeuvres in Laurent's hand. Laurent takes it with a curt nod and whisks away, hoping his pounding heart doesn't given him away. He hears the man mutter something about useless hired help as he storms back into the kitchen and Laurent takes his new disguise--complete with an accessory now--out into the ballroom.

The party is in full swing, with an orchestra set up on one side of the room and graceful couples twirling through the center. It's already stupidly hot in here despite the giant bay of open windows letting in a cool breeze, and he briefly wonders what rich people found enticing about events like these. Out of the corner of his eye he sees the flashes of white from the other waiters mingling around the edges of the room and he follows suit, weaving in and out of the crowd as effortlessly as the other waiters. The bored guests who aren't currently dancing grab the tiny delicacies off his plate but pay him absolutely no mind and so he's easily able to make his way to the staircase at the back of the room that he hopes will get him to where he wants to go. _2nd floor_. The first part of his mantra. 

He's trying to decide where he can stash the tray and eventually figures it will be safer to ditch it upstairs when he accidentally runs right into a giant wall of a man. Laurent's right hand steadies the tray while his left hand, in the unconscious movement of muscle memory that had been ingrained into him ever since he was a child, snakes inside the man's jacket and plucks the waiting pocket watch from its home. With a flash Laurent slips the watch up his sleeve, mentally berating himself for letting his old pickpocket impulses take over and risking causing a problem for his actual mission.

"Excuse me," he says, lowering his eyes, hoping the man doesn't have the kind of temper that means he'll pick a fight. But the man only glares at him for a second before waving him off imperiously, and Laurent is glad he decided to lower his eyes because it means he's able to roll them now without the man seeing. The stairs are just a few steps away and he makes his way over without anyone else accosting him and takes the steps two at a time.

The second story is deserted and unlit, and Laurent lets out a sigh of relief that at least this part will be a little easier. He pops one of the hors d'ouevres in his mouth--it was actually really good--and dumps the rest of them in an ornamental vase. The tray he ditches behind a giant wall tapestry. After a few moments of wandering he spots a door with a pair of deer in molded plaster above it and after that it's only a few seconds before he's able to pick the lock and slip inside. It's dark, as the lamps are not lit and the fireplace is out, but the open window at the end of the room spills in some of the light from the gardens and it's enough to see what he needs. Besides, risking more light would mean the possibility of someone finding him or him casting a shadow outside, and that would not be acceptable.

There's a picture on the wall that's hung in a strange way and Laurent's instincts tell him that there's a safe behind it. That's not what he's here for though and he ignores it, knowing what the consequences would be for taking something he wasn't specifically instructed to take. Whatever is hidden under the rug is the only thing he's after and so that's the only thing he'll worry about. Once the rug is folded back he sees a loose floorboard, which is easy enough to prise up. The safe is underneath--it's a Simon and Frank, a top of the line safe made only for the richest customers and promising the most extensive security. For most thieves just the name emblazoned on it would be enough of a deterrent--but that was why they had called Laurent for this job. He pulls the picks he'll need out from his jacket without even needing to look. They fit perfectly in his fingers and he's able to maneuver them with a dexterity that only comes from hundreds of hours of practice. It takes him nearly twenty seconds to get it open, not his record for this kind of safe by any means, but not too shabby considering he's doing this crouched on the floor in the dark. He has it open and he's rifling through the papers inside when he hears something rustling on the other side of the room, and he freezes.

"Well you certainly finished that up rather quickly," a deep voice says. Only a lifetime of training saves Laurent from jumping out of his skin at the unexpected noise, but he manages a fairly graceful movement and stands up quickly without looking too spooked. There, standing behind one of the settees, is a man. A large one, by the looks of it, enough so that he knows he has no hope of holding his own in a fight if the situation devolves into that.

But he's had a lifetime of training in taking beatings too, so he knows he'll be able to weather that as well. He moves slightly so that the safe is just beneath his feet and he leans against the desk, crossing his arms and looking down his nose as much as is possible seeing as how the man has a good six inches on him.

"I'll have you know that I've never had any complaints about my stamina," Laurent says silkily. "And I resent your implication otherwise."

The man laughs at this, and Laurent relaxes just a little at the sound. It's a sweet, open laugh, without any hint of bitterness or cruelty to it, which means that if Laurent can be clever enough, or witty or charming enough, he might just be able to get out of this with his head intact.

"I didn't mean to impugn your honor," the man says around a smile that Laurent can't quite make out in the dark. The man still hasn't moved from the other side of the room yet, another good sign. "How did you do that, by the way?"

"Do what?"

He makes a gesture at the floor. "Open that so fast."

Laurent shrugs, trying to figure out where this was going. Was the man seriously going to ask him for pointers?

"I have magic fingers," he says. "Something else I've never had complaints about."

"No, aside from breaking into houses and stealing things I'm sure you've had very few complaints about anything, have you?"

"My honor, which you were so quick not to impugn earlier, feels compelled to let you know that I didn't break into anything. I just walked in the front door and no one saw fit to stop me. And furthermore, I haven't stolen anything either."

"Not yet," the man supplies.

"Not yet," Laurent agrees. "As I understand it stealing isn't typically something one does in front of witnesses. Any reason you're not out there dancing and drinking the night away? Maybe some stamina issues of your own?"

The man laughs again and moves toward Laurent. Every muscle in his body tenses at the movement and he thinks that he sees the man pause, for a fraction of a second, before he moves a little more, slower this time, finally stopping an arm's length away. Laurent has to force himself to unclench his jaw. He can see the man better now that he's closer and some of the light from the party outside is illuminating him; he's not unattractive, Laurent admits, with a strong jaw and smooth copper skin. He's got an excellently tailored coat on and pants tight enough to show off his muscled thighs. Leather boots that probably cost more money than Laurent's ever stolen in his entire life go up about mid calf and Laurent can practically see his reflection in them from where he's standing. He wears his wealth like he's been born into it; he's old money, Laurent can tell, and probably never had to work a day in his life or ever want for anything. Laurent calculates this all in an instant and sees the man do the same for him, wondering what kind of conclusions this rich man came to, Laurent in his shabby coat that made the merchants turn away, lock picks still gripped in between his fingers.

"The party was atrociously boring," the man says, "and I feigned a headache so I could be alone for a moment. Which is probably the best decision I've made in oh, about a year or so. This is so much better than I could have hoped for."

There's a kind of heat to the man's voice that sets Laurent blushing, and he hopes that the faint light behind him is dim enough that the other man can't see it. He knows what this man will want with him with an insinuation like that; he's hardly unaware of the figure he cuts with his blonde hair, blue eyes and lithe body. He also knows what rich assholes like this do to the people they have power over, when the mood strikes them, but it would hardly be the first or last time he used sex to get out of a bad situation. 

"Tell me what you want, then," Laurent says, the words pushing out of him with a little more force than he intended. Hopefully the man would only want his cock sucked; Laurent was good enough at that that he could probably finish him off in just a few minutes and then he might even be able to get on with the job. 

"Step back," the man says softly. Laurent freezes, caught between analyzing what kind of disadvantage leaving his position over the safe would entail and wondering at the gentleness of the mans voice. When he doesn't move the man steps forward, just a touch, and Laurent takes a step away. They move like that, slowly inching across the room, until the man is standing above the safe and Laurent is a few feet away. The man reaches down and grabs the papers that Laurent had been rifling through before he was interrupted, and Laurent makes a strangled sound of protest.

"You'll get them back," the man says, stepping away again.

"And what exactly am I going to have to do to get them?" Laurent snaps. His voice comes out more tense than he intended, but this situation is drawing out too long for his comfort and Laurent isn't fully able to understand this man's motivations for doing what he's doing. 

The man moves slowly, possibly in deference to how tightly wound Laurent is right now, and fishes around in his jacket for a moment before finding what he's looking for. Laurent half expects it to be a vial of lube and is surprised instead to see a business card. The man turns it over and writes something on the back and then holds it out to Laurent. When Laurent doesn't move the man nods at him, an encouraging gesture that makes Laurent angry enough to reach out and snatch the card.

"Meet me tomorrow at Cafe Ios. 11:00."

"Why? So you can show up with a contingent of police, ready to arrest me?" Laurent asks him, feeling a hysterical laughter rise up in his throat. He shoves the feeling down harshly; he can deal with it later.

"No. No police. I have a proposition for you."

"I'm not a prostitute," Laurent spits out.

To Laurent's surprise, the man actually has the decency to look embarrassed by this, and even in the low light Laurent can see a faint flush creep up his cheeks. 

"That's not what...I don't..." the man takes a deep breath before continuing. "You're a thief, aren't you? A safe cracker? I seem to find myself in need of your particular brand of skills. Something...very important was stolen from me, and I want it back. I can't use normal channels; believe me, I don't want the police involved any more than you do."

"It's been my experience that the police are more apt to turn a blind eye to men like _you_ ," he says, gesturing at the man's whole...existence, "than men like me, despite the fact that we both might be committing the same crimes. So don't try to tell me the exposure to danger is comparable between the two of us. And it's also been my experience that men like _you_ might have me arrested and thrown into Newgate just for the fun of it."

"I give you my word that I have no intention of doing that," the man says. "What can I do to convince you?"

"You could give me those papers back," Laurent says, nodding to the stack in the man's hands. "That would go a long way towards convincing me."

The man looks down and for a moment Laurent thinks he might actually get away with this; if he gets those papers back he will disappear into thin air as fast as he knows how. But the man only takes half of the papers and holds it out to Laurent, keeping the other half well out of reach.

"A gesture of my intentions," he says, as Laurent snatches the offered stack before the man changes his mind. "I'll give you the rest tomorrow. And I can pay you--handsomely, I promise, I'll even compensate you for your time tomorrow. But you must come listen to what I have to say. Please."

And just like that, Laurent really doesn't have any options. He'd rather deal with police or a set up from this stranger than have to face his Uncle's wrath at not being able to complete the mission. He has to get back the rest of those papers, whatever the hell they were, or it was very likely he'd end up somewhere much worse than Newgate.

"Cafe Ios would never let me through the front door," Laurent says, desperately trying to wring back some amount of control from this situation that's slipping further and further away from him. "Do you know a place called Lazar's?"

"Just north of the Thames?"

Laurent nods. In truth he probably _would_ have been able to gain entry to Cafe Ios with this man beside him--the man practically drips money, and money had a way of making even the snootiest of people turn the other way--but he had never been there before and didn't know the lay of the land. He had been to Lazar's a few times, and it was a decent enough establishment and, more importantly, he knew where the exits were.

"I've heard of it. So. Tomorrow at 11?" 

"I don't really have a choice, do I?" Laurent says bitterly. The man opens his mouth like he wants to say something, but in the end he keeps silent. He nods and walks towards the door, then pauses with his hand on the knob. 

"The servants sweep these halls every half hour," he says. "Just in case you're interested." And without waiting for an answer he leaves, shutting the door quietly behind him.

Laurent lets out a shaky breath once he's sure he's alone, and he quickly secures his half of the papers in his jacket. His hands are shaking and he curses himself for being so weak, but eventually he manages to close the safe, return the floorboards to their rightful position and right the rug. While he's still got the light at his back he pauses--it's 11:18, he's still got a few minutes, if that infuriating man can be trusted--and looks at the card. _Lord Damianos, Duke of Akielos_ , it reads in neat script. On the back in neat handwriting is a message that only says _Trust me--Damen._ Laurent stares at it for a second before tearing it up into tiny pieces and throwing it on the floor.

********

By the time he gets home it's well after midnight but the streets of St. Giles are still busy, bustling with all sorts of unsavory activities that the cover of night provides. No one bothers him, not even the whores; here, they know better than to mess with one of the Regent's men, and most of the street walkers know Laurent has no preference for them. Or for anyone, really. Sex was a weapon he could use to get what he wanted, when he needed to, but it had never been anything beyond a fleeting pleasure that usually wasn't worth the price and certainly wasn't worth paying for. 

He walks up to the steps of his lodgings and isn't surprised to see a light from a candle coming from under the door. He raps quietly on the door to announce himself before going in, and he sees Auguste sitting at the dingy kitchen table where they share their meals, his knee bouncing up and down in nervousness.

"Brother," he says, coming up and giving Laurent a quick hug. There's an unspoken question in the way Auguste holds him, and Laurent lets him know that he's okay by giving him a pat on the back that's meant to be reassuring. They'll have things to talk about, later, but for now he's just happy to have this nightmare of a job behind him and be home.

"You're back!" Says the third member of their household, and Laurent goes over to the couch to ruffle Nicaise's hair. It's amazing how much stress has already leeched out of his body just by seeing his two favorite people, and he finds himself smiling already.

"Aww, did my baby brother miss me?" Laurent asks as he watches Nicaise scowl at him and try to put his hair back in order.

"I'm not a baby," Nicaise growls.

"Or my brother," Laurent says, reaching down to kiss him on the top of his head before he can move away, "but you're--"

"--still my baby brother all the same, I know," Nicaise finishes, rolling his eyes. "Didja bring me anything?"

Laurent had nearly forgotten about it with everything else crashing down around him but he pulls out the watch he had inadvertently pilfered from the guest he ran into in the ballroom and throws it to Nicaise, who peers at it for a moment before shrugging.

"It's cheap," he declares, and with an invisible flick of his wrist it disappears into his sleeve. Laurent always watches him intently when he does stuff like that and he's still never been able to see how the boy is so good at making thing disappear. Laurent had been the best pick pocket in St. Giles since he was six--which was saying something, since a majority of the pick pocket population came from St. Giles--but Nicaise eclipsed him by a mile and had taken over that title by the time he was five. He's brilliant, and Laurent wishes that some of that brilliance could be put to use in a way that won't end up with him arrested or killed.

"All right, Nicaise, you saw him, now you can go to bed," Auguste says gently, shooing him off the couch. "You've already stayed up well past your bed time. We'll be in shortly, okay?"

"It's okay, I'm tired anyway," Nicaise says, making it seem like leaving was his own idea, "but don't stay up to late. You guys always wake me up."

"Only because you stay up spying on us," Laurent says, and Nicaise shrugs at that before disappearing into the back room. Auguste looks at him expectantly, and Laurent sighs.

"There were complications," Laurent says, hating the way Auguste's shoulders tense up. He hates that it's his fault, that he couldn't have been better or faster or smarter than Damianos, and he wants to reassure his brother but he knows it won't help, not really. "Have you heard of a man named Lord Damianos?"

Auguste's eyes go wide, and he answers immediately. "Oh, yes. Damianos' name has been on the lips of everyone lately. He's been involved in quite the scandal." Laurent isn't surprised that Auguste knows this; his job requires him to be knowledgeable about the movements and members of the _ton_ , and Laurent didn't really have any doubts that he would at least have heard about this Damianos--the Duke of Akielos, Damen, whatever he was called. "His father, the Duke of Akielos, passed away about six months ago and left everything, including the title, to Damianos' brother Kastor. For years everyone had assumed that Damianos would be the one to inherit--even his brother had acted in a way that supported this--and his father was obviously more fond of Damianos than he was of Kastor. Now apparently there is a new will that the late Duke made in secret, ostensibly because he was afraid Damianos would act rashly when he found out about the change, and Kastor is claiming that the Duke had always intended him to inherit."

"Apart from everyone believing it to be so, is there any proof that Damianos was to be the rightful heir?"

"What, you mean like a crown with his name written out in jewels? I don't think so."

"Alright, it was just a question. What about the _ton_? What do they say about it?"

"The ones who are hoping to marry Damianos for his money don't care because he's rich enough even without the inheritance, and the ones who want to marry him for his title have transferred their feelings onto Kastor. Standard stuff."

"Surely there are some out there who _aren't_ interested in marrying him."

"The elderly, perhaps, although only because they know they don't have a chance. I would say maybe babies as well but I would think there are quite a few ambitious mothers who would betroth their newborns to him, if they could. Damianos is quite popular with the _ton_ , and Kastor is...well, he's wild. People like to enjoy his antics from afar for the gossip it provides, but he's not invited to many outings."

Laurent lets that information settle, and he sifts through it to figure out what part of it is truth and what is fiction. He's having a hard time determining what exactly Damianos would want with a thief--after all, it seemed like the details about the will were fairly well known, and having it disappear would just cause more problems than anything. Damianos didn't need a thief, he needed a forger to create a new will that favored him, or perhaps someone who was in the business of creating happy accidents, which would be especially easy if his brother were known to be wild. People died of drink all the time, and though the timing wouldn't be ideal it would solve the problem quite nicely. Neither one of those were Laurent's field of expertise, though, and neither one was something he was willing to take on. 

"What's up?" Auguste asks, sitting across from him. "Why are you asking me this?"

Laurent feels his cheeks begin to burn even before he tells his brother about getting caught in the middle of a job--something that had never happened to him before, and something he would need to work harder to make sure never happened again---but he makes sure to recount everything Damianos had said to him about wanting to hire him and wanting to take back what was his. Laurent leaves out the part where Damianos had given him the card and Laurent had ripped it up in a fit of childish pique; it wasn't necessary information, and Laurent still couldn't explain why he did it.

"So does Damianos still have access to his money?" Laurent asks, when he's done recounting the story. "Enough to afford hiring me?"

"You have no idea," Auguste says, laughing bitterly. "Even if he never sees a cent from the inheritance he would still be one of the most wealthy bachelors in the _ton_ today. He's got investments somewhere, or a factory, I don't know. Rich people don't talk about money, you know," he says, adopting a posh accent and holding up his pinky finger.

"Yeah well, they can afford not to," Laurent says, smiling. "So we're doing this, right? We kind of have to, at this point."

"I think it's at least worth finding out what his offer is, aside from needing to get those papers back," Auguste says, but the earlier lightness is gone. "You know if Uncle finds out that we're taking jobs behind his back--"

"He won't find out," Laurent says, cutting him off. "I'll make sure of it. Plus if Damianos is as rich as you say we might even be able to get enough money out of him to buy out all of our debts."

"And once we do that...then what?" Auguste asks, like they both haven't talked about this a million times, fantasized about what they would do once they made their millions. Laurent's not one to turn down an opportunity to dream with his brother, as unlikely as the whole prospect is, and he smiles.

"A house in the country," he says, "with a library that has every book ever printed in it."

"And stables full of horses and hounds," Auguste says, "and a village close by full of pretty country girls who will come to our parties."

"And a house in the woods I can retreat to when you throw those parties," Laurent says drily. "And a proper school for Nicaise."

"And boys his own age to play with who won't pick your pocket when you're not looking," Auguste adds. 

"Then we'll only have to worry about Nicaise picking our pockets when we're not looking," Laurent says, giggling. He turns serious, after a moment. "Should he come with us tomorrow?"

Auguste nods, and they're both back to business. "I think we'll need all the help we can get. He can be the fall guy."

"Awww," they hear, from the other room. Laurent and Auguste share a look.

"I knew he was going to spy," Laurent says as they both push up from the table. 

"Baby brothers are always such a pain," Auguste says, and laughs when Laurent shoots him a dirty look. "Come on, we'd better get to sleep. We've got a busy day tomorrow."

The three of them climb into their small bed, tucked in the corner of the room--Nicaise first, then Laurent, then Auguste, and as his brothers fall asleep around him Laurent wonders if tomorrow really would be the day their lives would start to turn around.

*********

Laurent had planned on dropping off the papers at his Uncle's first thing in the morning, but obviously that wasn't going to happen with Damianos still holding half of them. He makes his way over to Lazar's by 10:30 and finds a booth at the back of the establishment that gives him a good view of the door and has a wall behind him. There's an exit just a few steps to the right that would bring him through the kitchen; Laurent knows that if someone wanted to follow him through there that he'd have enough detritus to use to make it a hard chase. He's still half expecting Damianos to show up with some sort of officer in tow but at least now he has a plan, and the thought makes him feel a little less nervous.

He doesn't even glance over at Auguste, who has insinuated himself into a group of young men chatting merrily on the other side of the restaurant. Laurent had always been envious of Auguste's social skills and his ability to charm whoever he wanted almost instantly, but then Laurent didn't have to run cons on people either, so he figured the trade off of being a miserable party goer was not too bad. Auguste looks happy enough chatting away, from the little Laurent can see in his peripheral vision, but then Auguste has always been good at pretending at that, too. 

Damianos comes in the shop at exactly 11:00 dressed more casually than last night, but Laurent can see the fine quality of his clothes even from here. It takes him only a moment to spot Laurent and he smiles. Good lord, he has dimples. Laurent couldn't see that last night due to the low light and he hates that he has to see it now. He schools his face into a solid stone of impassivity.

"You're early," Damianos says, sitting across from him. The door chimes open again and Nicaise walks in and makes an exaggerated face at Laurent, who makes an equally exaggerated show of ignoring him. Behind him comes another man who has the same kind of burnished coppery skin as Damianos and who is wearing clothes too rich for this establishment; backup, then, as Laurent had expected, but he doesn't have the look of an officer about him, he just looks like another dandy. A friend, then, and one who's not very good at playing it cool. He's scowling over at Nicaise, who Laurent is sure has recognized the danger but who is doing an excellent job of seeming to be completely unaffected by it. 

"I wanted to be sure we had a good seat," Laurent says, gesturing the waitress over, "so I could have an excellent view of my life falling to pieces around me. I assume you're paying?"

Damianos smiles as the waitress comes over. "I'll have a coffee. And get my friend here whatever he wants."

"Tea, please. And we'll take two of the orange pastries, two croissants and three of the strawberry tarts. Thank you."

Damianos has a faintly shocked expression on his face that he covers quickly. "I didn't figure you'd have such a sweet tooth."

"It's not every day that I have a Duke offering to buy me sweets. I want to take advantage of it. Am I going to be in trouble for not addressing you as 'Your Grace?'" Damianos makes a pained face, and Laurent smiles wickedly, smelling blood. "Or no, it's just 'my lord' now, isn't it? You'll have to excuse me, my lord, I am so out of practice with _ton_ etiquette."

"Actually, I'd prefer if you just called me Damen," he says softly. "At least when we're alone."

"But we're not going to be alone for very much longer, my lord," Laurent says, glad that the waitress has brought them their drinks so that he can hide his nervous fingers around the steaming cup, "because once you give me the papers like you promised I won't ever see you again."

"You haven't even heard my offer," Damianos--Damen--says. He winces as he takes a sip from his coffee and then spoons in a frankly absurd number of sugar cubes into it. Sweet tooth indeed.

"I don't need to hear it. I know your story; you don't need a thief, you need an assassin," Laurent says, enjoying the way Damen looks over at him in horror. "I can point you in the right direction of someone who does that sort of thing, but unfortunately that's not exactly my area of expertise. I would advise caution, though. They're typically a nasty bunch."

"I don't need an," Damen lowers his voice, "assassin. I don't want anyone killed, I just want to get back what's rightfully mine."

"I think that's one thing we both have in common. Can I have my papers back now?"

"These are hardly yours," Damen huffs. "I watched you pilfer them out of a locked safe."

"Actually, _you're_ the one who did the pilfering. Technically _you_ stole them, I only opened the door, so to speak. You're as much a thief as I am."

Laurent watches in amusement as Damen rubs his temples; either Laurent is being exceptionally annoying today, which--good--or this man isn't used to people not giving him exactly what he wants exactly when he wants it. Laurent suspects probably a mixture of the two.

"I'm going to tell you my situation, and then I'm going to tell you my offer. If you're still not interested, then I'll give you your papers and you'll never see me again," Damen says after a moment. He looks at the strawberry tart on the table and then looks at Laurent, who shrugs. He could always order more. Damen takes a bite and then looks up in surprise. "This is really good."

"It's no Cafe Ios, I'm sure. Go on. I'm listening."

"Right. Well. You seem to know some things already, so I won't give you my whole life story. I was set to inherit when my father died, and I was there with him every day when he was...when he got sick." Damen looks so crushed even talking about it that Laurent has to physically stop himself from trying to console him. This man wasn't a friend, was barely even an acquaintance, and he didn't need consolation from someone like Laurent.

"So you can see it was a surprise to me when Kastor--my brother--showed up a few days after father's death with a new will, one my father had supposedly written in secret, that cut me out entirely. It wasn't something I saw coming. My father told me before he died about how proud he was that I would be carrying on the Akielos name..." Damen stops, for a moment, caught up in his memories, before looking back up with bright eyes. "I don't care about the money. I don't even care that much about the title; if my father had asked me to support Kastor as the next Duke, I would have. Happily."

"Then what is this all about?" Laurent asks, unable to hide his exasperation. "You have enough of your own wealth to live in luxury to the end of your days, you're well liked by your peers, you apparently don't even care if your brother gets to inherit instead of you...why are you even pursuing this?"

"Because it's just not right," Damen says, with enough heat to make some of the other patrons look over at them suspiciously. 

"Okay," Laurent says, deploying the soothing tone he uses whenever Nicaise is throwing a tantrum, "okay. You're right, it's not, but what is your end game, here? What are you hoping to accomplish?" _Why in the hell do you need me?_ Laurent doesn't ask.

"I know my brother kept the original will. The real one. The one where my father named me the successor. I'm sure of it. I don't...I don't think that I ever knew him as well as I thought I did, but I am sure about this. I want you to help me find it. I want to hire you to help me find it, that is. I know what the truth of the matter is and regardless of what happens between my brother and me I want everyone else to know the truth too."

"I'm sorry, wait. Back up. You want me to _help_ you find it? As in, you're not certain where it is?"

Damen looks just a little uncomfortable before answering, "yes, that's right. If I knew where it was I would just go get it, wouldn't I?" 

"Can I have a box, please?" Laurent calls to the waitress, gesturing to the multiple pastries on the table that he hasn't even touched. At least he was going to get some food and a funny story out of this. 

"Don't go," Damen says, waving off the waitress, who is walking over to their table with two small boxes in her hands, thoroughly confused at this point. "I have some suspicions of where it's being kept. I can get you in, but it won't just be laying out in the open. All I would need you to do is open some safes for me, maybe some locked drawers in a desk, something like that, and then I would look through the objects inside to see if it's what I need."

"And how exactly would you get me in? You don't think people will notice you, the charming darling of the _ton_ , dragging around a shabby looking thief everywhere you go? They will eat me alive, and probably you as well."

"You're not shabby looking," Damen says, annoyed. "And you wouldn't be a thief either. You'd be my fiancé."

A silence descends on the table broken only by the waitress coming over, throwing the boxes down, and retreating hastily.

"Your fiancé," Laurent repeats dumbly.

"A cover story," Damen goes on, "that wouldn't make anyone suspicious when we start spending time together. Or disappearing off into rooms together."

Laurent feels his face flush even though he knows they wouldn't be ducking out to go do _that_ , and he takes a long, long sip of his mostly cold tea before he's certain he can reply in a calm, even voice.

"That's got to be the stupidest plan I've ever heard."

"It also has the added bonus of throwing Kastor off my scent," Damen says, ignoring him. "As Duke I'd be expected to marry a woman and continue the family line; our engagement will lead everyone to believe that I don't have any intention of claiming my title back."

"A lot of this seems to be hinging on my ability to make myself into a believable fiancé to someone like you, which seems like a stretch even if you aren't a Duke."

"You'd be compensated for your time, of course," Damen continues as if that objection didn't even merit a response. "As you've so helpfully pointed out, I have no idea where the will is hidden, and it might take a few months to find. I think maybe...ten pounds a week? For as long as I require your services? Plus you'll need new clothes, which I would pay for as well. And once the job is done I'd have no use of them myself, obviously; you could keep them as even further payment."

"Ten pounds a week?" Laurent repeats. Ten pounds? A week? For two to three months of pretending to be a rich man's fiancé and opening a few safes? He and Auguste and Nicaise didn't even make ten pounds put together in an entire month, maybe not even two. That kind of money could set them up for years, they wouldn't have to worry about food or rent or--they could maybe even buy a house, a small one, probably, but out in the country, like they always wanted--

"And a bonus, once you find what I'm looking for. A thousand pounds."

Laurent feels the impact of that offer like a fist to his gut. The house in the country, the school for Nicaise, the hounds for Auguste--it's all crystal clear in his mind the minute the words leave Damen's mouth and he can't help but look over at Nicaise, who's staring back at him worriedly. Laurent gives him a small "ok" gesture and turns back to Damen. There's no way he can say no to this regardless of how pointless or stupid he thinks the whole thing is. Not when that much money is at stake.

When he turns back, the rest of the papers that Damen had taken from him are on the table. He reaches out for them carefully; once he turns them into his Uncle he'll receive his payment for the job, probably less than ten shillings after his Uncle takes all of his fees out of it. Yesterday that had meant fresh food and no worries over how to pay the rent for the month and possibly even new shoes for Nicaise; now that amount seems paltry, and barely worth his time. He tucks the papers carefully in his jacket and looks over at Damen, who's watching him intently.

"I promised I'd give them back, once you heard my offer," he says, "and you've heard it. What do you think?"

Laurent is silent for a moment, barely aware of how much Damen is fidgeting across from him. He had his papers back. The man at least kept his promises, even if he wasn't the smartest Duke in the realm. 

"I still think it's the stupidest plan I've ever heard," Laurent says eventually, "but I think I'd be even stupider to turn it down, not for ten pounds a week. I'm not calling you any pet names, by the way, no matter how much you pay me."

"Fair enough," Damen says, laughing, the relief written plainly on his face. "Actually, what should I call you, now that we're working together? You haven't told me your name yet."

"Laurent," he says, not able to see any reason why he shouldn't give his real name. "Laurent Rabat."

"Laurent," Damen repeats, the accent rolling off his tongue. "Pretty."

Laurent shrugs. "If my parents were still alive I'd send them your regards. As it is, I doubt you'll be able to find me in Debretts, so if you don't want this to be over before it starts you might want to figure that part out." 

"Don't worry, I have a plan. Now that you've accepted, you want to tell your backup that you're safe?" He points towards Nicaise, who's doing a very good job of glowering at them and pretending not to. Laurent nods at him, indicating that he should come over, and after a slight hesitation Nicaise stalks over and stands protectively by Laurent's side, turning the full force of his death glare on Damen who only shrinks back a little at the intensity of it. 

"Here," Laurent says, handing Nicaise the papers he had just gotten from Damen, "take these home and wait for me there. Make sure you're not followed."

Nicaise snorts--he would know better than that, but it was mostly meant as a warning to Damen--and grabs a fork off the table, looking for all the world like he's about to stab Damen in the chest with it. Instead, he brings it down with force on Damen's strawberry tart, which was only half eaten, and shoves the entire thing in his mouth. He chews it threateningly as he walks out, leaving a stunned Damen behind him.

"Welcome to the family," Laurent says.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I freaking love fake/pretend relationship stories. I don't care if they're overdone I love them so much. Hope you guys enjoyed this first chapter! It's about to get wild.


	2. Clothes Maketh the Man

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for your kind words about chapter one! Each and every one of your comments buoyed my spirits immensely. I might be posting these a little faster than intended because I just cannot wait to show you all the stuff I have planned. I hope you guys like chapter two!

After getting the scant details about the situation Auguste doesn't think the plan is completely hopeless, but then he wasn't the one who had to pretend to be a stranger's fiancé and so Laurent thinks that maybe his opinion doesn't quite count. Despite whatever hesitations either one of them had, though, neither one of them could afford to turn down the kind of money that Lord Damianos--Damen, now, or fiancé or sweetheart or whatever he was going to be called--was offering Laurent. Which is how Laurent finds himself standing outside of a tailor's shop at an extremely rude time the next day, waiting for the owner to come let him in hours before the shop opens for normal business. Apparently being disgustingly wealthy gave one enough clout to force shopkeepers to open whenever they wanted; Laurent made a sarcastic note to remember that.

"You wouldn't happen to be the fiancé of Lord Damianos, would you?" asks a friendly looking man walking towards him in the early--extremely early--morning light. 

"I...suppose I am," Laurent says slowly, accepting that this is going to be his new designation for the next few months, and extends his hand. The man laughs as he envelops him in a hearty handshake and Laurent forces himself to relax just a bit. He didn't seem put off by the shabby state of Laurent's clothes even if the man was, apparently, the most brilliant tailor on this side of the Thames.

"Such modesty for someone who has made the best match of the season. Or honestly the last two or three. I'm Charls," says Charls. "Please, come in. Lord Damianos will be joining us shortly."

"Joining us?" Laurent says in alarm as Charls lets him in and locks the door again behind them. "I thought this was just a fitting."

"It is, my lord" Charls says, the title grating against Laurent's brain as he's led towards the back room, "and your fiancé was most interested in being involved with helping you choose some appropriate garments." 

"I'm sure he is," Laurent mumbles, feeling his face redden slightly. He isn't ashamed of the clothes he wears; he takes as much care as he can to present himself respectably, and he and his brothers are all fairly adept at repairing their clothes, but still. He wasn't quite ready to feign indifference towards being paraded about in his under clothes around someone who wore socks that cost more than most people's houses. 

"I think we can get some things taken care of now, though," Charls says, bustling around and grabbing tape and a notebook. "No need to wait for him on this part, it's just a utilitarian fitting. Save some mysteries for the wedding day, eh? We'll let Lord Damianos catch up to us whenever he chooses to arrive."

Laurent is grateful for Charls' straightforward business-like nature, and is extra grateful when he brings over a large screen to section off part of the room so that they have some privacy even though they are, for the moment, alone. He says nothing as Laurent strips down to his undergarments, exposing a torso marred by scars. They were mostly faded at this point, inflicted before Laurent learned how--or was physically able--to take care of himself on the rough streets of St. Giles. Auguste had always protected him as best as he could, of course, but Auguste couldn't always be around. He was, however, always there to help put Laurent back together, and so Laurent looks on his scars not with any sort of embarrassment or shame but with pride--they were proof of how much he had been cared for.

But Charls says nothing when he sees them, doesn't even flinch, and acts like he sees bodies in this condition all the time, taking Laurent's measurements quickly and efficiently. Laurent is able to dress back in his street clothes before Damen even arrives which brings him no small amount of relief. Charls is in the middle of bringing out some fabric samples when there's a small knock on the front door, and he rushes over to welcome his esteemed guest.

"My lord," Charls says, waving Damen inside. Damen smiles politely at him, and then gives Laurent a brighter smile when he catches his eye. Laurent scowls back and sits down on one of the large settees scattered about the shop.

"I'm sorry I don't have any tea to offer the two of you," Charls says, bustling around. "Normally during regular business hours I would have an extra helper or two here, but--"

"Think nothing of it," Damen says, coming to sit by Laurent. "I appreciate the fact that you were willing to accommodate us at all, in fact. I know you're exceptionally busy and getting any appointment, especially on such short notice, was practically a miracle."

"All of my success is because of you, my lord," Charls says, beaming. He turns to Laurent conspiratorially, putting a hand up as if that would prevent Damen from hearing what he was about to say. "I don't know if you're aware, but Lord Damianos helped me become the most popular tailor in all of London."

"Stop it," Damen says, and Laurent sees with strange curiosity that he's blushing. "I did nothing of the sort. It was your own fine skills that made you such."

"Fine skills and a generous patron," Charls relents, smiling warmly down at him. "And, of course, someone who can fill out my suits in a way that makes every Tom, Dick, and Harry think they have a chance of looking half as good."

"And so what are you thinking for Laurent?" Damen asks, an obvious ploy to change the subject.

"I think after I'm done with him he will have the rest of the holdouts knocking down my door," Charls says, smirking.

"No, I meant--"

"Blue, I think," he says, interrupting Damen. Laurent's surprised to see that Damen doesn't object; he had figured that someone as high born as Damen wouldn't allow anyone to interrupt him, let alone someone who was subservient to him, but he says nothing, only looks at Charls fondly, and Laurent can tell that there is a genuine mutual regard between the two men. He stores that information away for when he has more time to think on it--another piece of information that's giving him a better view of who Damen really is, and one in odds with the man Laurent first assumed him to be. He doesn't necessarily welcome the change; he dislikes being wrong. 

But then Charls is holding up a sample of cloth against Laurent's neck and all he can think is that it's the softest thing he has ever felt in his life. "Your skin, my lord, is frankly perfect enough to carry any color. Except perhaps chartreuse; that might wash you out a bit. But of course that's a hard color for anyone to wear. Blue, I think, will set you off very nicely. And I will make sure not to compete with your eyes, which is a competition I don't think I could win, at any rate."

Laurent has not had that many pleasant things ever said about him in his entire life, and he's not sure what to do with them now.

"I...thank you," he says, as Charls loads another piece of cloth on him. "Blue is my favorite color," he adds, feeling silly.

But Charls doesn't seem to think that was a silly thing at all, and he nods seriously. "Destiny, then. Now. I understand all of your clothes were lost on the voyage over here, is that correct?"

Laurent looks over at Damen, who nods encouragingly. "That's right," he says hesitantly.

"I'm sorry to hear that. But I'll certainly be able to provide you with better clothes; you won't even miss your old ones when you see what I can make, I promise you. Now. What would we like to order today? I'll daresay that to start up a very basic wardrobe you'll need at least three pairs of good trousers and at least five decent shirts, plus perhaps two frock coats, one light and one dark. And then of course you'll need a morning coat, a riding coat, and a smoking jacket. And then bed clothes, obviously. And an assortment of vests in various colors and patterns. Did any of your ascots survive?"

"No," Laurent strangles out, overwhelmed. "None."

"I feared as much. All right. I have some coats already made for other customers, and I'd like you to try them on. Just to get a feeling for the different styles I can offer you. Yours will be made to fit, of course, so don't worry about that. Please excuse me, I'll be just a moment." And Charls disappears into the back room.

"Why do rich people need so many coats?" Laurent says helplessly, once Charls is out of earshot.

"I'm surprised you didn't ask for more, considering I'm picking up the bill," Damen says steadily.

"I was planning on asking for three, and I thought that was being greedy," Laurent says, pushing up off the couch. He begins pacing, a nervous habit he has that he knows is obnoxious, especially in a small area like this, but he needs to burn off some of this tension that's beginning to grow inside of him the deeper he gets into this farce. Damen watches him with a level gaze.

"People will know," he says eventually, when Damen doesn't say anything about the pacing. "I'll wear a morning coat out riding, or a hunting coat to a dinner party, and everyone will know I'm a fraud."

"No they won't. I'll help you." 

After a few more turns around the room, Laurent asks, "Is there any reason you couldn't go to the police with this?"

Damen lets out a short laugh. "I thought you were adamant about not involving the police."

"I was, when I thought my neck was on the line. But we've established a base line of trust when you didn't have me arrested at the cafe and you only brought one man for backup. Plus you gave me back the papers like you promised, which was more than I expected."

"You knew about my backup?" Damen asks, surprised.

"Damen, please," Laurent says, rolling his eyes. "I'm not an amateur. And your friend isn't that good."

When Laurent looks back over at him Damen is smiling warmly, and Laurent narrows his eyes.

"What?"

"It's the first time you've called me Damen," he says. "It's nice, is all."

"Why would--"

But then Charls comes bustling back in, his arms loaded full of coats which he unceremoniously dumps on the settee, and Laurent closes his mouth.

"Here you are, my lords. Every style under the sun, all for your convenience. I thought it might be nice to see how they hang, given how I've never dressed you before," he says, turning to Laurent. "If that's acceptable."

"It is," Damen says, even though Charls hadn't been asking him, and he grabs a coat off the pile. "I'll help him. I'm sure you have other things you need to be doing to prepare your store for opening, we won't keep you for something this trivial."

"Of course, my lord," Charls says, taking it as the dismissal it is. "I'll be back to check on you shortly." And with that he whisks away again, leaving Laurent and Damen alone. There's quite a stack to get through, and over the next half hour Laurent tries on more coats than he ever thought existed in the entire world, looking at himself in each one in the full length mirror. They're all splendid but some definitely suit him better than others, and these he places in a separate pile. Damen doesn't interfere with his choices, only helps him in and out of the coats whenever he needs assistance. Laurent isn't used to this either, needing help to dress, and he finds that it grates on him the same way as when Charls calls him 'my lord'.

"Did you really think I wouldn't give you back your papers?" Damen asks suddenly, as Laurent looks at himself in an especially gaudy number with more trim sewed to the lapels than decorated generals typically wore.

"It crossed my mind," he says, shucking off the coat and throwing it in the reject pile. He holds out a hand for the next one and Damen obliges, and he shrugs into it easily.

"But I promised you that I would."

"People can promise anything they like; it doesn't mean they have to hold to their word."

"And that's been your experience? That people say whatever they need to, to get what they want?" Damen asks. Laurent just shrugs, and looks at the new coat in the mirror. He avoids Damen's eyes in the reflection. "Why did you agree to meet me then, if you thought I might be lying?"

"Because the risks of doing so outweighed the risks of not getting those papers back. Besides, I was fairly confident that I could get them back regardless."

"How?"

"How?" Laurent repeats, and turns to Damen, who's standing behind him as innocent as a lamb. No wonder Kastor was able to swindle him like he did; Damen had a blind sort of confidence in people that just begged to be taken advantage of. A flash of something mean courses through him and he takes off the coat and throws it into the good pile, walking towards him with just his dress shirt on. Damen's eyes go wide as Laurent gets so close to him they're practically touching, although he makes sure to keep just the barest sliver of space between them. Laurent bites his bottom lip for just a second. Damen's eyes follow the movement and then snap back up to meet his eyes, and Laurent feels a spark of triumph flicker through him. 

"How do you think I could have done it?" He purrs, tilting his head just a little to expose his neck. They stand like that for a second, neither one moving an inch, and he's aware of the slight pickup in Damen's breathing, only just the tiniest bit louder then the furious beat of his own heart. Suddenly Laurent steps back, breaking the spell.

"Something like that, I'd imagine," answering his own question, pleased at how even his voice sounds. "Anyone can be bought. I can be bought for ten pounds a week and some fancy coats, apparently. I would have started there with you, and if that didn't work I would have moved on to plan B." 

"And what's plan B?" Damen grits out, his voice as hard as Laurent's ever heard it.

"I don't know," Laurent drawls, reaching out for the next coat. "I've never had my first plan fail." He turns, when Damen doesn't hand him the next coat, and sees that Damen is holding it bunched tightly in his hands, gripped so tightly his knuckles are white.

"Laurent, I'm not...I don't want it to be like that, between us. I don't want you to think you have to..." he trails off.

"I know that," Laurent snaps, angry to cover for the fact that Damen has surprised him once again. He tugs at the coat and Damen releases it without a fight. "Do you think I would have accepted your offer if I thought you were someone who expected things like that? If it makes you feel any better I wouldn't have accepted you at all if you hadn't held to your promise about the papers regardless of how much money you offered. Reading people is a skill I've honed throughout the years, and sometimes it's the only thing that's kept me alive. I wouldn't be here right now if I thought you were that kind of person."

"And what kind of person am I, then?" Damen asks.

 _Naive_. _Trusting_. _Too confident in the goodness of others._ A plethora of answers come to Laurent's mind, but he doesn't say them.

"An honest one," he says instead. He puts on the coat and looks at it in the mirror. "What do you think of this one?"

"I think it makes you look like a peacock," Damen says.

"See? Honest," Laurent says, and he smiles as he throws it in the reject pile. He looks to Damen for the next coat but his hands are empty. "Are we done?" 

As if on cue, Charls strolls back into the room, a smile on his face and bolts of fabric in his hands. "Gentlemen! How are we doing out here? Have we picked out some pleasing coats?"

Laurent points to the small pile of coats that he had liked, and Charls goes through them, beaming.

"Perfect. These are all exactly what I was going to suggest to you based on your frame, but I've found that sometimes it's better to let the customers think they have the illusion of choice. Now, gentlemen," he says, laying out the bolts of identical looking cloth in front of them, "the most important decision you'll ever make in your life about anything. What color for the trousers? I have here obsidian, onyx, midnight, and our newest color, straight from France--void."

"They're all black," Laurent says, bewildered, and is met with dual horrified expressions from both Damen and Charls, who look at him like he just grew another head.

Laurent sighs, and collapses against the settee.

********

It's a week before the first of his outfits are finished and Laurent is able to return for a final fitting. Charles fusses over him like a mother hen and ensures that everything fits perfectly, and after seeing what he's managed to create in a week Laurent has to admit that the man is worth every penny and then some. The clothes fit him like a dream and he barely recognizes the man gazing back at him in the mirror as Charls makes some last minute adjustments. 

"Perfection," he says fondly, tugging at Laurent's waistcoat, a tightly laced blue number that really does bring out his eyes. "You were made for my clothes."

"More like these clothes were made for me," Laurent corrects.

"Indeed they were. But I did not ever expect to have someone look as good in them as Lord Damianos does, and you have put even him to shame. Now come. I have a few more outfits for you, and I've been instructed by Lord Damianos to deposit them and yourself at his estate as soon as we're done here."

"Wonderful," Laurent mutters, tugging at his sleeves. The clothes were tighter than he usually wore but they were constructed so obviously and elegantly for his body that he didn't feel at all constrained by them. He wonders what Damen would think, and then dismisses the thought. As long as he looked the part it hardly mattered what anyone thought except for him, and he liked them. 

Laurent hadn't been to Damen's house yet, even though Damen had given him the address and told him to stop by if he needed anything. It had taken him a few days to admit that he was avoiding it, but he guessed that it would take him a little longer to admit to himself why. Pulling up in the carriage that Charls sent, though, he kind of wishes that he had taken the time to come and look because he is not prepared for what he sees. Damen's estate sits in the center of Grosvenor Square, the poshest, richest area of London. Laurent half expects he's going to be arrested when he steps out of the carriage even if, to all outward appearances, his fancy clothes make him look like he belongs here. Someone would still be able to tell. Someone would stop him.

But no one except a governess and a young lady are out, who both nod at Laurent respectfully, and so Laurent walks up the steps of the grand estate without being accosted by anyone. A servant from Charls' business trails behind him and carries the rest of his clothes in a stack of posh looking boxes with an excessively flourished "C" printed on the side of them. Laurent knocks on the door and only has to wait a few seconds before an older gentleman opens it.

"Master Laurent," he says, without even asking his name, "Master Damen is expecting you. Please, come in."

Laurent does, handing his hat and coat to the man--the butler, Laurent assumes--and with a flick of his wrist the butler calls for someone else to help divest the servant of Laurent's numerous boxes. After a brief bustling moment wherein Damen's servant disappears with the boxes and Charls' servant disappears with the carriage, Laurent is left alone with the butler in the foyer, a room that's almost as big as the entire building that Laurent lives in.

"My name is Jeeves, if it pleases you," the man says, and for a brief, hysterical second Laurent wonders what he would say if it didn't please him--he suspects he would allowed to call him another name, as ridiculous as that would be--but the man continues before Laurent can find out. "I am Master Damen's butler. I have been instructed to extend to you every courtesy I would to the master of the house, so if you ever need for anything, please let me know."

"Thank you," says Laurent. He's not really sure what other options he has besides that pleasantry; if he asked for the crown jewels, would Jeeves fetch them for him? Laurent suspects he would at least try. "I was hoping to speak with Damen, actually."

"Of course, Master Laurent," Jeeves says, bowing slightly. "Follow me."

Jeeves leads him through the house, which is positively spartan in its decoration. Not a wall tapestry or an ornamental vase to be found. Laurent finds himself mapping the path they take, an unconscious habit he has ingrained in him since childhood, and as they dive deeper and deeper into it he frowns. He would not enjoy being tasked with stealing something from this house--there were no hiding places, nowhere to stash errant trays of hors d'ouevres. A few tasteful statues break up the monotony of the space, but even most of those wouldn't be big enough to hide behind. Everything was extremely well constructed though, and all of the materials looked to be of high quality. This house didn't have a lot of decor but the perfection of the marble flooring would probably have bankrupted most other manors.

Jeeves finally comes to a stop in front of a large door and bows. "Master Damen is currently practicing. You're welcome to go inside; he often has visitors watch him practice and you would not disturb him. However, if you'd rather sit and have some tea, I can show you to the drawing room and Master Damen can join you shortly."

Laurent's fingers itch to take the second option--drawing rooms were often filled to the brim with expensive items that he could easily pawn, and the offer of being left alone in there for an untold amount of time made all of his instincts scream out for him to take advantage of that. But that wasn't what he was here for. He wasn't going to stoop to stealing from Damen, not when he was being paid as well as he was. Besides, if the rest of the decor was anything to go by he'd be lucky if there were even chairs in there.

"I'll be fine here, thank you," he says, nodding at Jeeves. "I appreciate the offer."

Jeeves gives him a level look before bowing once more and leaving, and Laurent turns to open the door.

He's not sure what he expected to find on the other side; for some reason, when Jeeves had said that Damen was practicing, Laurent had automatically assumed he meant at an instrument. But the room he walks into is a large one, without any furniture or any other impediments in the way. And in the middle of the room, soaked in sweat and holding a sword like he was born to it, is Damen.

Damen, wearing nothing except trousers and a filthy white shirt that is plastered to his body and doing a fine job of showing off an impressive array of muscles, turns when he hears the door open, and for a moment the two of them just stare at each other. Laurent feels as if the temperature in the room has just increased by twenty degrees, while a more distant part of his mind wonders if those trousers Damen is wearing are obsidian or onyx. They're tight, whatever color they are, and suddenly Laurent remembers what Charls had said about how Damen filled out his suits in a way that made everyone jealous. He understands exactly what that means, now.

"Hello," Damen says helplessly, gazing back at him, before getting stabbed in the arm. "Ow! Dammit Nik, that's not fair," Damen says, his attention turned towards his sparring partner. Laurent isn't surprised to see his partner--Nik--is the same man from the cafe last week, Damen's backup and the victim of his inadvertent pick pocketing at that fateful party. Nik looks back at Damen with a world weary expression.

"You didn't call a halt," he says.

"Well excuse me for saying hello to my guest," Damen says, rubbing at his arm where Nik's blunted tip had bruised him. He sets down his own sword and comes jogging over to Laurent, who can feel his body tensing up in alarm the closer Damen gets to him. He can see now that the first few buttons of his shirt are not done up, and a smattering of dark hair peeks up from the opening.

"Don't worry, I won't sweat on you," he says, misinterpreting the reason for Laurent's alarm. He looks Laurent up and down, inspecting his new clothes, and Laurent feels his blood pressure ratchet up another level. "Those clothes...they look good on you."

"Yes, you were right about Charls, he is quite a genius," Laurent says, aiming for safe ground.

"I don't know if it's all Charls," Damen says, grinning.

"Damen!" Nik calls out angrily, saving Laurent from any further embarrassment. "Are we going to finish our match or not? Surely he can wait on us."

"Go ahead," Laurent says, taking a chair that's been shoved up against the wall and finding that he needs suddenly to sit down. "I was told that you often enjoy visitors. Don't stop on my account."

Damen grins again and then jogs over to pick up his sword from where he had set it down, scooping it up in an easy motion and putting himself opposite of Nik. One of them calls out "en garde!" and they begin their duel.

In hindsight, Laurent really should have picked the drawing room and tea. 

Damen moves with the ease of someone long familiar with the sword, and Nik answers him in a similar fashion. They have obviously been doing this for a while, and not just today; they had the ease of fighting that comes from long acquaintance, and they blur across the room in a calculated push here, a conscious giving way of ground there. This fighting looks so little like any fighting Laurent is familiar with--this isn't the hard, brutal, desperate battles that occur on the streets where he grew up, but something more elegant and trained, almost like a dance. After a particularly hard exchange Nik and Damen both step away from each other, panting slightly, and Laurent thinks that maybe, just maybe, they're about to call it for the day.

And then Damen sticks his sword into the mat underneath their feet, and with one smooth movement yanks his shirt off and throws it to the side.

Laurent doesn't miss the pained expression Nik gives his friend before they start up again mostly because he is desperately trying not to openly stare at Damen's chest. The glimpse he had gotten had proven what he had already guessed; Damen was built like a statue and had a body that looked like it was no stranger to hard work. Most surprisingly, though, is the smattering of scars that criss cross his chest--light streaks across his dark skin, time not having faded them to a more distant color. They look suspiciously like the ones Laurent has scattered on his own body, although his are older and more numerous.

Laurent sets his mind to figuring out what that could possibly mean, mostly in a desperate attempt to maintain a civil facade in the face of this madness, and he only has to suffer through another ten minutes or so before Nik calls the match for the day and goes over to fetch a glass of water, glaring at Laurent all the while. Damen is across the room, putting away their equipment, and he _still_ hasn't put his shirt back on. 

"Is there a problem?" Laurent asks, annoyed at the not so subtle side eye Nik is giving him and itching for an outlet for this tension that he can't quite dispel. "You're looking at me like I just poisoned your grandmother."

"So you're a poisoner as well?" Nik spits out, apparently looking for a fight as much as Laurent was. "It wouldn't surprise me. I know what your kind is capable of--"

"My kind?" Laurent says mockingly. "What exactly does 'my kind' mean to you?"

"You're a thief," Nik spits, "and you know what I mean. I'm warning you right now that you'd better not try any of your usual tricks with Damen. Do you hear me? I don't approve of any part of this ridiculous plan."

"Well we're in agreement about that, at least," Laurent says. "Was that little show for my benefit? A taste of what I'll be in for if I cross you?"

"It wouldn't hurt to remember it," Nik says, "but no, it wasn't planned. You're earlier than Damen said you'd be. I wanted to leave before you even got here. I'm glad I stayed, though. It saves me the trouble of having to find you later and threaten you."

"I'm sorry I arrived too early," Laurent says, dropping his gaze and fluttering his eyelashes, doing his best to look annoyingly innocent. "Time can get away from one _so_ easily, don't you think? Sometimes it seems to just...slip away."

Nik stops, and glares even harder at Laurent. "You. It was you!"

"I'm sure I don't know what you mean," Laurent says airily, tossing his head. 

"Damen--" 

"Oh good, you've met," Damen says, coming up to the two of them. He's holding his disgustingly filthy shirt in his hands, using it as a rag to mop at his brow. Laurent redoubles his efforts not to stare.

"Laurent, this is my friend Lord Nikandros, the Earl of Delpha. Nik, this is--"

"This is the man who stole my watch!" Nik yells. Damen blinks at him, and then Laurent, and then turns back to Nik.

"That wasn't him, Nik. He's a safe cracker, not a pickpocket." Damen pauses for a second and turns back to Laurent. "You aren't, are you?"

"We're not even married yet and you want to know all my secrets," Laurent says. "How am I supposed to cultivate my air of mysteriousness under these circumstances?"

"You did say you had magic fingers," Damen says, considering.

"You know what? Keep the damned thing. I don't want to know," Nik hisses, throwing up his hands and walking away, muttering something about stubborn friends with idiot ideas. With a rather theatrical slam of the door Laurent is left alone with a sweaty Damen.

"Sorry," Damen says sheepishly. "He doesn't approve of this plan."

"I gathered."

"So I thought we could go over some logistics," Damen says, guiding Laurent towards the other side of the room, "if that's okay with you."

"That's fine, but I'm going to have to insist that you bathe first, and put on a shirt," Laurent says, "lest you ruin my reputation." And his ability to concentrate and form coherent sentences. 

"Already thinking like an aristocrat, I see. And it only took what--a week, and some fine new clothes?" Damen says, pulling on the shirt he had just been using to mop at his brow. "There, that will have to do for now. Is that acceptable?"

Apart from the fact that he was still covered in sweat and Laurent had the most ridiculous urge to lick every bit of it off of his well muscled body, it was acceptable. He decides not to answer that.

"So have you decided how you want me?" 

"I'm...sorry?" Damen falters, and Laurent hides his smile.

"Have you decided how you want me to act in public," Laurent clarifies with a stern expression. "Honestly, you need to get your mind out of the gutter. This is supposed to be a logistics session, is it not?"

Damen sends him a glance like he knew exactly what Laurent had intended, but he doesn't challenge him. "I'm still not sure I follow."

Laurent sighs. "Listen. I'm no con artist, at least not a very good one, but I do have some skills that I can bring to bear on the unsuspecting public. I don't know what kind of reputation you have but if you need me to act in a certain way that won't make people question your choice in a husband, I can probably oblige." 

"Oh well that is _very_ interesting," Damen says, crossing his arms and leaning up against the wall, looking at Laurent in a way that makes him regret teasing him earlier. "And what kind of choices do you think people expect from me?"

"Probably not a criminal, for one," Laurent says, and Damen sends him an exasperated glance. "So I guess that's out. Maybe...hmm. You don't seem like the type that would go for sweet and submissive, and that might just be a little too far out of my range at any rate."

"That's a shame," says Damen lightly, and Laurent flushes despite knowing he set himself up for that, "but you're right, for the most part. Especially about it being out of your range. What else?"

"I don't think shy," Laurent says, not rising to his goading, "because I think you like getting talked back to."

"Sometimes," Damen admits. "It keeps things interesting. Go on."

"Affectionate, maybe, but I already told you I wouldn't call you by any pet names, so that's out."

"You did give me fair warning, I can hardly be mad."

"Cold and distant would be easiest," Laurent says, "and people often misinterpret it as being mysterious, which could work in my favor. But I don't think people would expect you to like someone like that, and I don't know if you'd enjoy it much either."

"I think I might surprise you, in that regard," Damen says dryly. "But you might be right that others wouldn't expect it."

"As I said, I'm not a con artist," Laurent says, a little unsure of how to take that admission, "and I don't have that many options. Surely you have something in mind."

Laurent waits as Damen thinks about it, and he finds that he's a little more wound up than he probably should be. He was just basically an employee, after all, what did it matter to him how Damen wanted him to act? He was getting paid, and if Damen wanted him to be shy, or quiet, or loud or obnoxious he could do that just fine. This was just for a job, and lying about who he was wasn't something that Laurent was unused to, after all.

So why did it matter to him so much, what Damen thought?

"I think," Damen says finally, "this would just be easier for everyone if you would just be yourself." 

"Myself?" Laurent asks. Out of all of the potential outcomes he could have hardly predicted that this would be what Damen wanted. "You've met me, haven't you? Why would you want me to act like that?"

"Because I've met you," Damen repeats, annoyed. "You're smart and witty and charming and I don't see why anyone else would find that a strange thing to be attracted to. Besides," he says, looking away, "I'm tired of all the lying. I want...I'm not used to it. Something between us needs to be real. I don't think I can do this otherwise."

Laurent is silent for a moment, and he lets the weight of that admission sink deep into him, settling somewhere deep inside of his soul.

"All right," he says, nodding. "All right."

******

Having changed back into his street clothes with his new suits stashed safely at Damen's estate, Laurent begins the trek home. He waves away the offer of taking Damen's carriage, not only because he doesn't want Damen to find out where he lives or risk the spies in St. Giles reporting his movements to his uncle, but because he also wants to clear his head and walking helps him do that.

Laurent de Vere. He plays the name over and over in his mind, making himself familiar with the name and how it sounds.

Damen had found the name after some research and he had--somehow--determined that de Vere was a safe enough and respectable enough name to borrow for a couple of months. The real owners of that lineage were apparently stationed in India in some sort of military capacity, and Damen's reasoning went that by the time anyone thought to check up with them to see if they really did have a nephew gallivanting around London and then wait for a reply to come back with a denial, their mission would be over and it wouldn't matter what people found out. 

Laurent de Vere. It has a pleasant sound to it, and it fit so well with his first name that he didn't think he'd have a problem answering it. Perhaps Damen had picked it out of convenience, or because maybe it was just the first name he had chanced upon when doing said research, but Laurent remembers the way he had looked at him when he had offered the name. He had looked a little shy, as if he wasn't sure what Laurent's reaction would be, and he had looked--

Hopeful. Like he was hoping that Laurent would like it.

Ridiculous, of course. Laurent didn't have to like it because he didn't really have a choice in the matter. It was just a happy coincidence that he did, just like it was a happy coincidence that so far Damen had treated him with respect, with a friendly familiarity, and hadn't tried to exploit him or take advantage of him. And it didn't hurt that he was funny, and charming, or that he had a body like a Greek god...

Laurent shakes his head, trying to clear those thoughts away. He needs to remain professional, and day dreaming about Damen without his shirt on certainly wasn't going to help in that regard. He pauses in front of his door--he hadn't realized that he was this close to home--and collects himself for a moment before entering.

"Laurent!" Nicaise shouts, pushing off from where he was sitting at the table, running over to give him a quick hug. Laurent wraps his arms around him, but barely has time for anything else before Nicaise is pushing away, frowning at him.

"I thought we were going to get to see your new clothes," he pouts.

"Do you know what would happen to me if I wore those clothes here?" Laurent asks, nodding a hello at Auguste, who's in the middle of making dinner in their tiny kitchen. "No one would recognize me, and I would get robbed."

"No you wouldn't," Nicaise says, annoyed. "You always look like you. Those clothes can't turn you into someone you're not."

"You don't think some fancy clothes can turn me into a Duke's fiancé?" Laurent asks, teasing. 

"It seems like you got to do that by just being yourself," he says simply, and goes back to help Auguste with dinner. Laurent decides that the ten year old's wisdom is a little too much for him at the moment, and sits down at the table to watch.

"How did the meeting go?" Auguste asks.

Laurent shrugs, consciously pushing the image of Damen sword fighting out of his mind once again. "Well enough. We went over the logistics of the whole endeavor. My first outing will be in a few days; we're going to the theater."

Auguste considers this for a moment and nods. "That's a good idea. You'll be seen by a lot of important people, but you won't have to interact with too many. Everyone will be talking about you for sure."

"That's what Damen said. I can't imagine he'll want to parade me around too much; a lot of time spent in my company will probably only reflect poorly on him," Laurent says.

Nicaise snickers, and Laurent expects Auguste to laugh as well but he doesn't. He turns, frowning at Laurent.

"I don't think that's what's happening, Laurent," he says softly. "You don't know what it's like talking to those kinds of people--he does. I do too, on a much smaller scale. Those people are like vultures; they tear apart anyone who is new, or different, or anyone who's made a better match then them or has better luck than they do at anything. He's not trying to hide you, he's probably trying to protect you."

"I--" Laurent hadn't considered that, and he turns it over in his mind for a moment. "Damen hasn't been like that, though," he says eventually. "A vulture, I mean."

"No, he's not. He's different, and you'll probably realize just how much when you start being seen with him and get to compare him to his peers. I've been asking around about him, putting out some feelers. He's liked by most of the members of the _ton_ , but it's strange. He doesn't have many friends, and he's got this slight air of being untouchable that follows him around. Everyone respects him, which is unusual in its own way and especially considering what a disaster his brother is, but it doesn't really seem like anyone really knows him that well."

"That does seem strange. Charls made it seem like he was a taste maker in some regards, it's curious that others view him like that."

"Oh yes well, I think you can see for yourself why _that's_ true," Auguste says, wiggling his eyebrows at Laurent, who scowls back. "The _ton_ may be a bunch of gossiping vultures but they're not blind. He cuts a fairly dashing figure, you know."

"Does he? I haven't noticed," Laurent says, shrugging.

"You little liar," Auguste says, grinning wickedly. "Anyone with two eyes can see how handsome he is, don't be coy. Come now, what show is he taking you to?"

"I'm not sure," Laurent admits. Had Damen told him, and he was too busy using all of his brain power trying not to stare at his chest? It was likely. "I didn't ask, actually, although he did say it would be at Covent Garden."

"Oh, can I go too?" Nicaise asks, perking up. "There will be so many fancy things there to steal there."

"No," they answer at the same time. Nicaise crosses his arms and pouts, but Laurent and his brother were used to these kinds of assaults.

"I'm tired of talking about my thing," Laurent says, mostly to distract Nicaise away from a potential temper tantrum. "What did the two of you do today?"

"Well, today I posed as a business man and swindled a bank out of a thousand pounds," Auguste says. "And when I returned to Uncle to tell him the good news he paid me a full two pounds for it."

"Two pounds!" Nicaise says. "Out of a thousand? The Regent is really getting stingy, isn't he? I stole a diamond bracelet and a fan made of ivory today, and I only got 4 shillings for the both of them."

"And where did you get a diamond bracelet from, hm?" Auguste asks, filling up Laurent's cup with some watered down wine.

"Just...out," Nicaise says, stuffing some of the bread from their dinner into his mouth. "Yu bow, aboud."

"Around where?" Laurent asks, grabbing his cup away from Nicaise's grasp before he can take a sip. "Nicaise?"

Nicaise swallows and looks sullenly at his two older brothers. "I dunno. Somewhere near Picadilly, I think."

"Nicaise," Auguste says disapprovingly, setting the plate of bread and cheese on the table.

"You know the bobbies patrol that area more than any other," Laurent says. "It's dangerous, Nicaise. They just picked up two kids from St. Giles trying to steal from there last week, didn't you hear about that?"

"I _know_ , but that's where all of the good stuff is!" Nicaise protests, grabbing another hunk of bread. "I just want to help you guys pay off our debt. I'm better than those other kids anyway, I don't get caught."

"Not yet," Laurent says. "Everyone always gets caught, eventually."

"You haven't," Nicaise spits.

"Not yet," Laurent says again.

"And I'm better than you too," Nicaise says. "You've told me so."

"You are," Laurent says softly, knowing that he probably won't understand how much he really means that. "You're better than the both of us. And if my job goes well none of us will ever have to do this again, and we'll live in the country and have dogs and eat cake all day long. So please stay alive and on this side of the law until then. Okay? Please, baby brother?"

"He's not a baby," Auguste says, smiling.

"And I'm not your brother," Nicaise recites, chastened.

"But you're still our baby brother all the same," Laurent finishes. "Please, Nicaise. Promise you won't go there again."

"I promise," Nicaise grumbles, and Laurent looks over at Auguste, who nods back at him. The eat in silence for a few moments, and Laurent and Auguste both let Nicaise take as much of the food as he wants before grabbing their own dinner. He was a growing boy, after all. 

Suddenly a knock sounds roughly on the door, interrupting their peace. They all turn towards the sound at the same time to see a piece of paper slide under the door, the heavy boots of the messenger clomping loudly as he makes his way back down the stairs. Nicaise gets up and looks at it, and then hands it to Laurent.

"It's for you," he says tiredly. Laurent opens the note and looks inside; there's only a date--next Friday--and an address--a mansion in Belgrave Square. He'll get more detailed information later, maybe even in person from one of his uncle's goons if the job is complicated enough. He had expected something like this to happen--his uncle usually kept him pretty busy--and he's already thinking of how he's going to need to come up with some sort of excuse to make sure Damen doesn't find out about what he's doing. He reads the note once more, memorizing the address, and then burns the letter over the candle. The atmosphere is quieter and tenser than before, with that physical reminder of what exactly was at stake here, and what they were trying to escape from.

"You know, I didn't think that Damianos guy was that handsome," Nicaise says suddenly. "He's very large, and reminds me of those big horses that carry the casks of ale through the street."

Laurent catches Auguste's eye for the briefest second and they stare at each other for a fraught moment before they both explode in laughter. Nicaise scowls but there's a smile tugging on the corner of his mouth, and it only takes a moment before he's laughing too, and for one perfect moment, in the slums of St. Giles, the sound of laughter rings through the air.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jeeves was supposed to be a placeholder name and then I grew attached to it and never changed it. 😂 Sorry for being so basic.
> 
> The next chapter is from Damen's POV! Excited about that. POV will switch between the two every two or so chapters.


	3. Can't Take My Eyes Off of You

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't wait any longer! Here's chapter 3! The response to this has been lovely, thank you so much for reading.

Damen never really gave too much thought to fancy clothes--he was much more comfortable in his plain trousers and a tunic than anything else, especially if it was cheaply made and he didn't have to worry about making it dirty--but sitting across from Laurent in his newly fashioned dress clothes, he comes to a couple of new conclusions.

One, he has a new found appreciation for just how exquisite someone can look in trousers and a nice jacket. He had always assumed that Charls was just flattering him by telling him how well he filled a suit, but if the way he feels looking at Laurent is any indication of the way anyone else ever felt about seeing him in a new suit well then, he can understand the appeal a little more.

Two, he is spending entirely too much mental power imagining what Laurent would look like without any clothes at all. The well fitted clothes only accentuate his long, graceful limbs, his trim waist, and give just a hint of a muscular leanness that Damen knows would feel wonderful under his hands--

"I'm not wearing my jacket inside out, am I?" Laurent asks, breaking the silence inside of the carriage.

"What? No," Damen says, thrown off by the question.

"Because you keep staring at me as if I am. Or perhaps I've ripped something already? I wouldn't offend Charls' stitching by saying so, of course, it's just that you _are_ staring, and making me self conscious."

"No," Damen repeats, laughing a little at how cross Laurent sounds, "No. It's just...they look very good on you, you know."

"Thank you, I do know," Laurent says, and turns to look out the window. 

Damen had been pretty sure he was stepping into a mine field when he had asked Laurent to just be himself during that first logistics session as he finds that he can't quite predict Laurent's reaction to things yet, and so doesn't know how to prepare himself for some of the things that come out of his mouth. Frankly he enjoys the novelty of it more than he thought he would. Laurent's acerbic wit and flare of arrogance had started to come out more and more often the more time they spent with each other, and Damen finds himself anticipating each and every comment with something akin to joy.

Damen feels the carriage slow and come to a halt and a few seconds later a servant opens the door, bowing respectfully. They had arrived late so as to not have to make any small talk with the crowd; Damen wasn't sure that Laurent fully understood exactly how bloodthirsty these people could be, for all of his protestations otherwise, and he wanted to try to limit their social interactions as much as possible to save him from finding out. Speaking during intermission would be unavoidable but that would likely use up all of the patience that Damen had for social niceties anyway, which meant that the gossips could concentrate on him and how he was different now, after coming back, and poor thing, being written out of the will, wasn't it just too bad, and Kastor was just such a layabout but he would come around, if Damen could only find it within himself to help his poor brother, who had this unfortunate responsibility thrust upon him without being totally prepared for it...

"Hey," Laurent says, slipping his arm around Damen's and squeezing. "You okay?"

Laurent's looking back at him with something like genuine concern on his face, his hand tucked snugly against the crook of Damen's arm a solid, grounding presence. Laurent might have had a biting wit and more arrogance than was fashionable, but sometimes he could be like this too, caring and sweet and...well, it didn't matter. They were here for a job, after all, and Laurent was only here because Damen was paying him an insane amount of money. No other reason. He takes a deep breath and nods.

"Yeah, I'm okay. Shall we?"

********

In the end it turns out that they aren't _that_ late; by the time they make it up to Damen's private box the overture has only just finished and the play is just getting started. Their arrival, however, makes enough of a ripple through the audience that even the actors on stage glance over at them before returning to their lines and beginning the play.

"I'll sue you for this," cries a man on stage, "I'm a paying customer!" 

"If you don't pay for your drinks, you're a thief!" A woman dressed as a barmaid cries back.

"What are we watching, again?" Laurent asks, leaning over to murmur in Damen's ear.

Damen shrugs, peering at the stage. He had asked Nik to procure him some tickets to the theater but he hadn't thought to ask what was currently being produced. Or maybe Nik had told him and he had just forgotten. Being seen here was good enough for his plan and he hadn't really concerned himself with any of the other details. That was looking to be an oversight, at the moment.

"Not a penny from me! It's not my fault!" Cries the first man, apparently only having one mode of delivering lines. "Buy sturdier glasses or a softer floor!" He moons at the audience, who chuckle politely. Something about the play seems familiar, but Damen can't quite put a finger on it. They watch a few more minutes of execrable dialogue with Laurent fidgeting restlessly beside him.

"Is this...is this supposed to be Shakespeare?" Laurent hisses, after a swaggering actor dressed as a lord comes into the scene dragging some very frightened dogs behind him. 

"Oh, well..." Damen pauses for a moment, trying to catch some of the language. "It sounds like _The Taming of the Shrew_ , if I'm not mistaken."

"You _are_ mistaken," Laurent says, sitting back forcefully in his chair and crossing his arms. "I don't know what this is, but it is definitely not Shakespeare. It is a travesty."

A few men swagger onto the stage as they pick up the actor playing drunk--well, Damen assumed he was playing drunk. You could never really tell with actors. He looks over at the box across the theater from them and sees Lady Eugenie staring back at him with opera glasses, and when she catches his eye she puts them down and nods at him. A second later she has her fan out, speaking in undertones to the woman next to her, a redhead who's name Damen can't quite recall, and her eyes snap over to Damen's as well. They both laugh. He's tired of this already.

"So tell me," he says, turning away from them and from the stage and lowering his voice, "how did someone with your varied and accomplished talents have time enough to learn Shakespeare?"

"I _am_ literate, you know," Laurent says, with a hint of that arrogance flaring up again, "but...Shakespeare was my brother's doing, mostly."

"Your brother?" Damen asks, not bothering anymore to even pretend he was paying attention to the play. "The kid at the cafe? The one who almost stabbed me?"

"No, that's my younger brother. And he probably wouldn't have stabbed you. My older brother is the one who taught me. He was at the cafe too, that day, but I doubt you saw him. He's very good." 

Damen closes his eyes and tries to remember the other patrons, but finds that he really has no memory of anyone except Laurent. Besides, that was what his backup had been for. The next time he saw Nik he would have to let him know he missed finding Laurent's other backup.

"He loved acting, when we were younger," Laurent goes on, and Damen finds himself leaning in closer to make sure he doesn't miss anything. He doesn't think he's ever heard Laurent's voice be this soft before, and he likes hearing him talk without his usual shield of self deprecation and deflection coloring everything he says. "We used to read from this really old beat up copy of Shakespeare's comedies. It was one of the first things I ever stole, actually, once I started doing house jobs. I wasn't supposed to take it. I got in a lot of trouble for that. Anyway, we would get together with some of the other children from the neighborhood and we would act out the parts. We were...very bad," Laurent says, smiling, "although not nearly as bad as these charlatans. But Auguste was good. He could have been an actor, if he wanted. If my uncle..."

Laurent stops, suddenly tense, and Damen doesn't push him. He knows him well enough now to know that he wouldn't appreciate it, and that if he did want to share it would be in his own time. So he waits, and for a moment they watch the actors on stage rush around and cry out their lines to each other, until they all line up and the orchestra starts up again. And then they start singing.

"Good lord," Laurent mutters, as the cast breaks into song. "It's even worse than I thought. Okay, your turn."

"My turn?" Damen asks, unable to stop watching the horror show unfold in front of him. "My turn for what?"

"I told you a charming childhood story, now I want one from you. Quid pro quo."

"Charming childhood story? In light of everything you know about my brother?"

"There must have been some good times between the two of you," Laurent says. "Some prank you two played on your myriad of private tutors, maybe, or how you fooled the shoemaker when you were getting fitted for your diamond shoes, something like that."

"Very funny," Damen says, glaring over at Laurent, who was doing his best at looking back at him with a deceptively sweet expression. He casts his mind back to his childhood, trying not to let the more recent events color his memories. "Well, Kastor and I were no fans of Shakespeare, we were always a little more rough as boys."

"Hard to imagine," Laurent mutters sarcastically.

Damen ignores that. "My father started training us in swordplay on each of our tenth birthdays. Kastor is four years older than me, so I had four years of watching him get to start training, knowing that I still had to wait. I was so envious of him, he looked like a hero out of the stories our mother used to read to us. I would watch every one of his training sessions as closely as I could and at night I would sneak down and practice with the training dummies. My father knew, I think, but he never said anything about it or stopped me from doing it.

When I finally hit my tenth birthday and got to take formal lessons, I was a mess. I had been practicing everything wrong for years, and my instructor was so mad that he had to re-teach me everything. But I was single minded, and it only took me two years before I could beat Kastor almost every time, even though he was older. He was furious, that first time I disarmed him. I was only twelve, and he was sixteen."

"Is that how you got your scars? Sword fighting with your brother?" Laurent asks. 

"No," he says, wincing. He remembers the way Laurent had looked at him, seeing those scars for the first time--or really, how he _hadn't_ looked at him. Laurent had been so careful to make sure his eyes never went below Damen's collarbone, and even though Damen had had that kind of reaction before from people who were repulsed by them he had thought, for some stupid reason, that Laurent would be different. Well, it didn't really matter, did it? Laurent was his fiancé in name only, it wasn't like he had to worry about what he would think on their wedding day. He shakes his head.

"No," he repeats. "I--actually, wait. I suppose one of them was because of Kastor."

"Really?" Laurent asks, not surprised, as if it was the answer he had been expecting. 

"It was an accident," Damen says, and it comes out like he's defending him. "We were practicing together, after one of our lessons. We used wooden swords most of the time but Kastor wanted to use a real one, just to see how it felt. We put blunt tips on the end, so that we wouldn't hurt each other. But...Kastor's fell off, somehow, and he got me through the thigh."

"How old were you?" Laurent asks softly.

"Thirteen. Kastor had just turned seventeen. Don't look at me like that, Laurent. You should have seen him after it happened. Even my father didn't punish him too harshly because he was obviously so upset about the whole thing." Damen doesn't remember too much of that day--in the end, all he really remembered were the doctors and the blood, so much blood--but he remembered that night. Everyone had thought him asleep but he was having trouble due to the pain, so when Kastor came into his room he was wide awake, although pretending not to be. He must have snuck in, Damen knew, because his father had been furious and had banished him to his room, but he came in anyway and sat next to Damen's bed and put his head down and sobbed. Damen had wanted to reach out and tell him it was going to be okay but he didn't want to embarrass him, and so he had just kept pretending to be asleep until Kastor left. 

Damen's so caught up thinking about the past that when Laurent puts a hand on his knee, he starts. 

"Hey," he says, squeezing him gently before removing his hand. Damen feels the heat of it on his skin like a brand. "I didn't mean to imply anything untoward. I haven't even met your brother, I'm sure he's...a perfectly nice person who definitely didn't try to kill you when you were a child."

"You're right. He only financially ruined my father and forged his will. Along with a whole other slew of charges that would probably get brought against him if he weren't a peer of the realm," Damen says bitterly. 

"Ah. A criminal, then. Well, I can relate to that," Laurent says lightly. "Not the attempted fratricide part, obviously. Or the peer of the realm part. But the rest of it."

"I suppose that makes me one too," Damen says after a moment. "I hired you, after all. We're co-conspirators."

Laurent hums in agreement and they watch for a moment as the terrible musical number comes to a halt and the play resumes its normal course.

"You'd make a terrible criminal, you know," Laurent says. "You can't lie to save your life."

"I can so," Damen protests.

"No, you can't. Right there, that was a lie."

"That hardly counts."

"Everything counts when you're trying to sell a lie. Go on, try again."

"Try to lie?"

"Yes," Laurent says, and when Damen looks over at him his eyes are sparkling with mischief and he feels his heart skip a beat. He has a crystal clear revelation in this moment that he'd probably try to do almost anything that Laurent asked of him, regardless of how illegal or stupid or treacherous it was. That thought should probably scare him more than it does. 

"Okay," he says, trying out the unfamiliar feeling, "acting is a tough profession and that has never been so obvious as it has been watching these actors try their hand at Shakespeare."

"No, that doesn't count. You're talking around the truth. You have to tell a lie--a flat out lie."

"Give me an example."

"Okay," Laurent says, casting his eye around the theater. "See that man sitting over there? I had to break into his house a few years ago and he had the largest collection of vintage dildos that I have ever seen."

"What? Seriously?" Damen asks, looking over at Lord Touars, the man Laurent had pointed to. 

"No, not seriously," Laurent says, exasperated. "That was a lie. You even told me to--never mind. Now you try."

"Okay. See that woman over there? The one with the purple feather in her hat?"

"Yes," Laurent replies.

"I slept with her sister at a ball last year."

"What, _at_ the ball?" Laurent asks. "That's pretty risque."

"No, well, not at the ball, then, it was afterwards....or no, yes it was at the ball, but we went into a back room..." Damen has to stop because Laurent is laughing at him, trying to stifle the sound behind his hand. Damen finds that he's smiling too but schools his face into a more serious expression.

"Okay, fine. I'll try again. See that man down there, next to the stage? I saw him on the arm of a renowned Countess last week when her husband was attending to business in France and they looked to be _very_ friendly."

"Actually, that was pretty good," Laurent admits. "I couldn't tell that was a lie. Wait a second," Laurent says, as Damen starts to color slightly, "you were lying about that being a lie! That was true!"

"Fine yes, that was true," Damen huffs. "You shouldn't have such power. It's unnatural."

The lights in the theater start to come up, announcing intermission, and Laurent gets up to stretch his legs. 

"One more," Damen says, already resentful that he was going to have to talk to other people in just a moment, and that he wasn't going to be able to keep Laurent to himself.

"I don't know how you could hope to redeem yourself, but okay," Laurent says, haughty as ever.

"This is the most fun I've ever had at the theater, and you're the most gorgeous person I've ever had on my arm," Damen says. 

Laurent considers him for a moment before turning a dazzling, heartbreaking smile on him. Damen thinks that he might just break into a thousand pieces, knowing Laurent can look at someone else like that.

"Well," he says, looping his arm through Damen's, "it seems like you do have some skills after all."

And then the crowd is on them, and Damen doesn't have time to admit that he was, once again, telling the truth.

********

"Did you manage to talk to Lord Damianos' new fiancé, Laurent de Vere?"

"No, I was occupied with Lord Guion, that insufferable man. I heard that he was a baronet."

"Who, Lord Guion?"

"No, my dear, how many glasses of brandy have you had? De Vere, of course."

"Oh, yes. Well I wasn't able to drag his family history out from him in the five minutes we spoke, so you'll have to excuse my ignorance on the subject. He seemed completely unconcerned with all of the drama surrounding Lord Damianos, though."

"Is it possible he's ignorant of it?"

"Not after tonight he's not. Lady Eugenie brought it up to him, obliquely of course, and it didn't seem to faze him in the slightest."

"Peculiar. What was he like?"

"He's uncommonly handsome. It's not hard to see why Lord Damianos would fall for him."

"And it's not hard to see why he would fall for Akielos, even without the title."

"Yes, dear, we're all aware of what you think of the man."

"Have you _seen_ his shoulders?"

"Not again, please. I can't take another diatribe about his shoulders, not today. Anyway it wouldn't matter if the man didn't even have any arms; Lord de Vere will be marrying quite a fortune, title or no."

"And so how did you find him?"

"Quick witted, if a little common. Do you know what he said when Lady Eugenie asked him how he was finding the performance?"

"How would I? Tell me!"

"He said that he thought that the whoever wrote the script needed to have let the monkeys work on it for just a few more days, that it didn't seem to be quite finished. Can you imagine!"

"No! Or, maybe yes. I'm not sure exactly what that means. Perhaps he just isn't an appreciator of the arts."

"Perhaps. He and Lord Damianos were speaking to each other through most of the performance."

"I saw that. They could barely stop looking at each other, it's a wonder they saw any of the play at all in order to form an opinion on it. Tell me, did they manage to snag an invite to Lord Herode's soiree next Friday?"

"Actually yes, but de Vere claimed he had a prior engagement, some sort of business to attend to."

"He turned down an invitation from Lord Herode? And for some sort of business reason? How gauche."

"Indeed. I also spoke to Madame Jokaste on the way up here, she said she was _very_ interested in meeting Lord de Vere."

"Jokaste did? That will be awkward. Didn't she and Damianos..."

"Yes. And now she and the Duke are rumored to be a thing."

"So I've heard. From one brother to the other, how dreadful."

"Yes. We'll see how Lord de Vere handles the whole situation, it has the makings of a truly dreadful scene."

"Oh, the orchestra is starting up again, I must return to my box. I have a splendid view of the happy couple from there. I will call on you tomorrow, and we can speak more on the subject."

"I wouldn't miss it, my dear." 

********

Damen sits fidgeting in Nikandros' carriage that Friday, unable to stop worrying about Laurent. When they were at the theater a few days ago he had turned down an invitation to Lord Herod's soiree and he wouldn't tell Damen the exact reason why, he only claimed that he had a prior engagement and begged off for the evening. It wasn't too terrible of a situation, although Lord Herode was exclusive with his invites and they probably could have made some important connections there, but it wasn't one of the potential places that Kastor would have hidden the will and so there wasn't any real need for him to attend. But it still nagged at him, for some reason. Laurent was hiding something from him, and he didn't like it.

He sighs, and Nikandros sends him a tired look.

"This is why I'm taking you out tonight," he says. "So that you'll stop sighing and moping about."

"I wasn't moping."

"Yes, you were. And even if you want to deny the moping you can't claim you weren't sighing--you've done it six times since you've been in the carriage and we've only been in here for fifteen minutes."

"Nik I appreciate this, I really do. But there isn't really any reason to--"

"Yes there is. Don't argue with me. We're going to go to this party and we're going to have some drinks, dance with a few attractive partners, and have a good night. Most importantly we're going to forget about blondes in general and fake fiancés in particular. Okay? This is supposed to be fun. This is supposed to be what rich people do for fun."

Damen doesn't have the heart to disagree with him, mostly because he suspects that Nik feels the same about these sorts of things as he does. They're both silent for a moment, the sound of the horse's hoofs clip clopping on the cobblestones, before Damen speaks again.

"Do you remember that one night, when we were stationed in that little town outside of Burma? The one with the rice wine?"

"Oh god, yes I remember," Nik says, smiling. "Well, I remember the stories about it from the next day. I remember very little from the actual night."

"We only had a small complement of soldiers and those two native guides that knew the landscape like the back of their hands."

"And they didn't speak a word of English, and we had to use a complicated system of charades to tell them anything."

"We camped out in an open field, and they brought us that cursed rice wine from a nearby village. And they told us stories in their own language all night long, and we couldn't understand a word of it but we all sat around entranced by it, laughing when they laughed, scared when they acted scared."

"You assume they were stories. They could have been talking about how stupid we were, following them through unknown territory at night."

"You're right. They should have been talking about that, we were very stupid. There were so many stars there," Damen says. That night he hadn't even been able to climb inside his tent, he had just collapsed around the fire that they had built and slept off the drink. He had woken up very, very early in the morning, before the sun had even started to climb over the nearby hills, and the drink had mostly left him at that point and the fire was only a pile of embers. He had looked up and seen the stars winking back at him, more stars than he had ever seen in his entire life, and he remembers that at the time he had thought them the most beautiful thing he had ever laid eyes on. They had never looked like that again, not even all those other times when they camped out in the middle of nowhere, and Damen wonders why they had seemed so bright to him in that moment.

"We're here," Nik says, breaking him out of his trance. The carriage door opens and they tumble out and stand in front of a giant, gorgeous mansion somewhere near Belgrave Square, the light and laughter from inside spilling into the street. "Come on, Damen. It'll be fun, I swear. And if it isn't, we can leave in less than an hour."

"I'll hold you to that," Damen says, and they are whisked away with the rest of the crowd.

*******

It only takes a few minutes for Damen to get separated from his friend; the crush of people right inside the house is overwhelming, and Damen seeks out the lesser populated rooms with an introvert's intuition for such things. Someone somewhere is playing a piano and singing loudly, and he angles away from that as much as possible. Nodding at a few people he recognizes he realizes that he's just really not in the mood for an event like this tonight and more than that, he can't quite get Laurent out of his thoughts. Laurent had been brilliant, at the theater--he had been charming, and pleasant, and he had even cast some not so subtle glances at Damen that would convince almost anyone that the relationship between them was real. It had almost even convinced Damen, but he knew better. He had to keep reminding himself of that. He had more visits in the days following their theater excursion from people who were barely acquaintances than he had in the past year. It was all anyone was talking about, at the moment, and even the snide comments and underhanded remarks about his being written out of the will had paled in the face of Laurent's debut. 

A blonde head catches his eye and he looks up, surprised; but it's only a waiter, and Damen looks away, feeling foolish. He was even seeing Laurent's form in strangers now. It would do him well to remember what he was really here for, and why Laurent was even in his life right now. Getting the original will back was the only thing that mattered and he needed Laurent's help for that, but that was all. Once it was done--and he still had no doubt that they would find it eventually--Laurent would leave, and they would not see each other again, and that was the way of it. Afterwards, after this was all over, he could settle down, concentrate on his projects, help the tenants on his estates, get married, have children, do all of the things that men of his station were required to do. And that would be fine. It would all be fine.

Damen watches the blonde waiter make his way across the room, holding up a tray with an elegant hand, and there's something familiar about the way he moves but Damen can't quite put his finger on it. Suddenly one of the guests calls out, and the waiter turns in response--

\--and its Laurent, clear as day, offering up the tray for the hungry guest to snack off of. He keeps his eyes downcast in a gesture of submission that Damen has never seen from him before, and after the guest dismisses him with a flick of his hand Laurent turns and continues walking.

Damen is on his feet before he even knows what he's doing as he follows Laurent through the various rooms of the estate. The coat he's wearing is large, too large for his small frame, and the black and gold colors clash against his fair skin. Damen can't tell if he notices that he's being followed as Laurent casually makes his way through the crowd, stopping now and then to let the guests take the food before continuing on. 

The crowd has thinned out considerably by the time Laurent makes it to the stairway at the back of the house, and Damen jumps behind a pillar as Laurent turns to make sure the way is clear. By the time Damen feels it's safe to peek out Laurent is gone, up the stairs. Damen follows silently, closing the distance between them without making a noise. He watches from the shadows of the stairwell as Laurent looks around and starts counting the doors, as if he's got a specific one in mind that he's looking for. At the third door on the left he stops, sets down his tray and brings out his lock picks and opens the door quickly.

Damen moves, then. He knows he'll only have a few seconds to get to the door before it closes and that once Laurent locks it behind him he won't be able to get inside without assistance--or without breaking it down, which he's almost angry enough right now to do. He races over and just as Laurent's about to close the door he slips his foot inside, stopping it from closing completely.

"What the--Damen?" Laurent says, eyes wide in alarm.

Damen doesn't answer, just shoulders the door open and once he's inside locks it behind him.

"What in gods name are you doing here?" Damen asks, voice low and thrumming with anger as he advances on Laurent. Laurent takes a step back, his eyes wide, and a memory of their first meeting flashes through Damen's mind, the way Laurent backed up from him as if anticipating an attack. He does so again, but the fear in his eyes is different this time.

"What are--you said you were staying home tonight," Laurent says, his voice quiet.

"I changed my mind. That's something I'm allowed to do, you know. Is this why you couldn't come to Lord Herode's today? Because you were doing this?"

"Yes," Laurent answers. Damen doesn't realize that he's still been advancing on him until Laurent startles as he bumps up against the desk in the middle of the room, and Damen stops short.

"There are people attending this party who were at the theater last week. Who might be able to recognize you," Damen says.

"Yes."

"And you came anyway. You just couldn't help yourself."

There's a flash of anger at those words, but Laurent rallies himself before answering. "That's right. I'm a criminal, remember?"

"Am I not paying you enough?" Damen blurts out. "Do you need money? Is that what this is about?"

Laurent's anger this time isn't just a flash but an all consuming fire, and Damen steps back at the intensity of it. "It's not about the money, can't you see anything? Do you think you're the only one who has use of my skills? That you're only person who's trying to leverage me into doing what they want? Because you're not unique in that regard, Damen. You're definitely not the first and you won't be the last."

Damen feels all of the fight go out of him like a breath, and it's replaced on the next inhale by a sense of worry. "Laurent, wait. Is someone threatening you? Are you in trouble?"

"Oh god," Laurent says, rubbing his palms into his eyes, "what exactly do you think of me? How can you not--do you think I _like_ doing this? Do you think I _like_ having to always sneak around, pretending I belong in these sort of places so I can steal god knows what out of people's homes?" In a fit of pique he takes off the ill fitting servant's coat and throws it on a nearby sofa. He's wearing his old frock coat underneath it, the one that he had been wearing the first time Damen met him, but of course he was--all of his new clothes were kept in Damen's house. Damen hadn't really given it too much thought before, but now he wonders why Laurent couldn't take them home with him. Did he even have somewhere safe to live?

"I don't like it, Damen. I'm the best at what I do because I have to be, but I don't _want_ to do it, not like anyone has ever asked me. And I am telling you right now that you need to walk away from this room and pretend you didn't see me. Stay and party or go home and go to bed, it doesn't matter. Just let me finish this because I'll not have you jeopardize everything in some sort of morally righteous outburst."

"Do you really think I could stop you?" Damen asks, and Laurent looks at him warily, like he's a dangerous animal that he's not sure is going to bite him or not. Damen hates it. "How could I ask you to stop, when you're just doing for someone else the same thing I'm asking you to do?"

Laurent sighs, his anger turned inwards. "Go home, Damen."

"No. Let me help you."

"Help me?" Laurent asks, letting out a disbelieving breath. "I don't need your help, I just need you to let me do my job."

"I don't mean with the job, I mean--"

"Shhh," Laurent whispers sharply. "Did you hear that?"

"No, I didn't hear--" Damen stops as Laurent reaches out and grabs his arm, digging his fingers in painfully and dragging him close. His head is cocked, like he's listening for something, but over the noise of the party and the thundering of his heart Damen can't hear anything out of the ordinary.

"Laurent, what's the--"

And then Laurent reaches up, puts his hands on either side of Damen's face, and kisses him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The excerpts from "The Taming of the Shrew" are from a translation I found that Orson Scott Card did (yeah I dunno either). Minus the musical numbers, of course. I threw those in there just to piss off Laurent. Oh and sorry I just found out about cliffhangers...don't worry I'll post the next one in just a few days because I just don't have any patience for anything right now!
> 
> The next chapter is called "The Street Where You Live".


	4. The Street Where You Live

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You guys are amazing! Thank you so much to everyone who's been reading and commenting, I've been soaking it all up like a sponge.

Laurent is kissing him. It's impossible to feel anything else except this, Laurent's lips against his own, their bodies pressed together, and Laurent is not being easy or careful with him and it's still not enough for Damen, he wants more. Laurent is still carrying the energy from their fight within him and Damen can feel the evidence of that when Laurent bites down on his lower lip just a little too hard to be comfortable, or when he drags his fingernails roughly against his scalp.

"Excuse me!" Squeaks out a voice at the other end of the room, and the two of them jump apart. Damen glares over at the intruder and sees a man in black and gold livery bowing and exiting the room as fast as he's able. "Lord Damianos! I didn't know anyone was--please excuse me!" he says again, and slams the door shut.

Damen turns back to Laurent, who's watching him with a strange intensity. 

"I told you I heard something," Laurent says, and Damen flushes.

Of course. That was all it had been. Laurent hadn't actually wanted to kiss him, he had just been pretending in order not to get caught. Laurent was very good at pretending at a lot of things; Damen needed to remember that, instead of remembering what Laurent had felt like pressed up against him.

"Fuck," Laurent says quietly, and then brings down a heavy fist on the desk. "Fuck! I can't go through with this job now, if something ends up missing from this room the servant is going to tell everyone what he saw, and he recognized you. Goddammit," he fumes.

"Just forget it," Damen says, steeling himself against the fury of Laurent's gaze. "This is my fault. However much money there is in there, I'll give it to you. Your...your employer won't even need to know."

"It's not money," Laurent says bitterly. "I don't know what it is, but it's never money."

"What else could it be?" Damen asks.

Laurent scoffs at him. "What indeed. I don't know, a forged will, maybe? Letters, documents, plans, blackmail material, I don't know. It's never something as simple as money. It doesn't matter to me anyway, I'm just a blunt tool my uncle uses to--"

"Laurent," Damen says sharply, but he ignores him and shrugs the ill fitting jacket back on.

"I'm leaving. I'm going to have to report this failure to my employer," he says, glaring at Damen. "He doesn't take kindly to not getting what he wants. I might be...I don't know how he'll react. It'll be a couple of days before I can contact you. Don't try to find me."

Something about the way Laurent says that, or the way he phrases it, makes every hair on Damen's body stand on end. Damen reaches out and catches him by his arm, but Laurent shakes him off violently.

"Don't, Damen. I can't take your pity right now," he says, and slips out of the room, leaving Damen alone.

Dammit. Damn _him_! Why couldn't he just say that he was in trouble? Why didn't he just ask Damen to help? He still had contacts from his army days, people he could use to help him get away from whatever situation he was in. He should know by now that Damen would help him, and all he would have to do is ask. 

But why should Laurent trust him anyway? Like he had pointed out, Damen was just as bad as whoever was employing him. They were both using him to the same end. Damen feels guilt wash over him. He hadn't known that Laurent had hated what he did; he had assumed that he was proud of it, either because he was good at what he did or because he relished in rebelling against society's expectations, but Damen hadn't even considered that Laurent was doing this against his will, or because he thought he had no other options. In all honesty , he hadn't really thought about it much at all, aside from the fact that Laurent possessed a skill he had a need for. 

Well, that would have to end now. He can't go on like they have been -- but that can wait until this situation is dealt with. He can't just do nothing and let Laurent take the fall for this. He has to help somehow. Everyone can be bought, everyone has a price--hadn't Laurent said that? Well, that would mean that his employer had a price too. And Damen could find him and make sure that he couldn't hurt Laurent again.

But that means he will have to find Laurent first. Knowing instantly what he needs to do he runs out of the room and makes his way out of the mansion, silently hoping that Nik will forgive him for abandoning him.

*******

It only takes Damen a few tense minutes to find him. Laurent had ditched the servant's coat somewhere along the way out of the mansion and now only wore his frock coat, but the streets are mostly empty and it isn't hard to pick him out. Damen is attuned to him now, the way he moves, and he wonders how he didn't spot it sooner when Laurent was disguised as a waiter. Maybe because it was the last place he had expected him to be; maybe because the kiss had opened something inside of his brain that he had, up until that point, desperately been trying-- and mostly failing--to ignore. At any rate, it doesn't matter anymore. Damen follows him through the streets, his blonde hair a beacon.

Damen hardly notices as the buildings around him get shabbier and more run down. It's taking all of his concentration to follow Laurent and to not get caught by him; normally he was an excellent tracker, and he had a lot of experience not only tracking game through the forest in his country estate but a more deadly kind of experience he gained from his time in the army. Under normal circumstances it wouldn't be a problem for him to follow someone through a city, even a mostly sleeping one, but Laurent is paranoid and constantly stops to listen, and checks his blind spots in the windows of the shops that he passes. Damen wonders if he does that because he suspects that he's being followed, or because he's needed to do such things to survive.

The buildings around him are worse now, some completely abandoned and some filled with squatters. Damen has never been to this part of London before and he wishes he wasn't wearing these ridiculous party clothes. He sticks out like a sore thumb here, and the people in rags eye him warily. 

He also very much wishes he had his sword with him.

But he doesn't have too much time to worry about that because he still needs to follow Laurent. There's more people here, in this part of town at this time of night, and they give him a certain leeway that they don't give Damen. It takes him a few minutes to realize that he, too, is being followed, and he picks up his pace a little, daring to get a little closer to put some more distance between him and his new followers.

"You lost, mister?" Says a kid, stepping out into the street in front of him. Damen has to twist away to avoid stepping on him, and he feels the kid's hand enter his pocket.

"Keep it," Damen says, pushing past him and knowing the scant amount of change he had carried with him tonight is gone. There's a rustling behind him but he keeps his focus on Laurent, still a ways in front of him and walking with purpose.

Suddenly a hand pushes at his shoulder, hard. He just keeps from falling into the dirt but another hand is pushing him, and in a few seconds he's surrounded by about five people ranging in age from eight to about sixteen or seventeen. They're all thin, wiry creatures, and they form a semi circle around him and start herding him into an alley. He doesn't like his options in there, but trying to fight all of them on the street probably isn't the best idea either. One of the older kids has a knife, and he moves it in a way that lets Damen know that he's both trying to show off and not trained in how to use it. An untrained knife fighter can still stab, though, and so he keeps his attention locked on the most pressing danger. 

"That kid already took everything I have," Damen says, nodding towards the kid that had stepped in front of him. "You can threaten me all you want but you won't get anything else."

"'e looks posh," says one kid, "and 'e talks posh. I bet 'e's got more than 'e says."

"I bet that coat's worth sumthin'," one of the older kids says. "Gimme it."

Damen nods, sensing an opportunity, and moves slowly, so that the kids won't think he's trying anything. He takes off his coat and in a smooth movement throws it at the kid with the knife, aiming for his face. He charges, trying to wrestle the knife out of his grip, and feels another kid entry the fray on his right hand side. Something sharp bites into his arm and he realizes belatedly that one of the other kids must have had a knife too, but at least he's managed to wrestle the one out of the first kids grip. He stands up with it set out in front of him protectively, and the kids step back, wary. He can feel blood on his arm but it's just a scratch--he can fight through this, and in fact had fought through much worse.

"What's going on here?" Says a familiar voice, outwardly calm. Damen can hear the restrained current of fury running underneath it; it had been directed at him not too long ago and he knows it will be directed at him again soon once this is over, and he suppresses a wince.

"'E's ours, shithead," says one of the kids. "Get lost."

"Oh, I'm not lost," Laurent says, stepping casually into the circle of kids. His hands are in his pockets, his muscles tensed and ready for a fight, and Damen wonders if the other kids have clocked that yet. "This is my territory you're in right now, and I certainly don't recognize you."

"We saw 'im first," says the kid who's knife Damen had taken, but he sounds a little less confident than he had a moment ago. "We've been tracking 'im since Green street."

"Green street?" Laurent hisses, and in a blinding flash of movement he grabs the kid by his neck and slams him up against the wall of the alley, holding him firmly in place. The other kids take a worried step back--Damen might have done the same, if he felt like he could move right now. "Do you know where the fuck you are right now, you cretin? Do you know who you're talking to?"

"Laurent--" Damen says, and stops, as every head snaps to him and then immediately back to Laurent.

"Laurent?" One of the kids whispers.

"He's the Regent's," comes another voice, and Damen can hear the fear in it. It gets repeated, from kid to kid--the Regent's, the Regent's.

"That's right, the Regent's," Laurent says, his voice a mixture of venom and disgust. "So do you know who's territory you're in, now?"

"We'll leave," the littlest kid says, already moving away. "We'll go right now, sir. We didn't mean anything by it. We're sorry sir, we swear."

The kid Laurent's holding against the wall is nodding his head as much as he can with Laurent's hand on his throat, and when Laurent finally moves away the kid drops to his knees, gasping. One of the others help him up and they all run away, muttering 'sorry' as they slip back into the night.

"Laurent--"

"Not another word," Laurent says, his voice still low and deadly. He looks him up and down. "You're bleeding."

"It's nothing," Damen says. He had honestly already forgotten about it. Laurent purses his lips--lips that Damen had kissed not an hour ago--and motions for him to stay put. Not ten seconds later he comes back holding a ratty sheet, and he drapes it around Damen's shoulders, hiding his fancy clothes.

"Follow me," Laurent says. "And hunch down a little when you walk. Grab your jacket; those kids dropped it on their way out." And just like that he spins and stalks out of the alley.

Damen has no problem keeping up, even if he does feel a little foolish hobbled over like Laurent instructed. Damen almost wonders if he should have taken his chances and left when those kids left; he's not looking forward to wherever Laurent is taking him and the inevitable fury that would be pointed at him there, even if he did deserve it. Laurent would have every right to tell Damen to go to hell and to never see him again.

That thought hurts more than his arm does, he thinks, as the blood trails down his arm and drips off of his fingers to the ground.

Laurent leads him up a small flight of stairs to a ramshackle little apartment. He knocks, a series of intermittent sounds that Damen assumes is some sort of code, before opening the door and nodding for Damen to go inside.

"Be good," he hisses as Damen walks into the small apartment, and stops.

It's a cozy little place, with a tiny kitchen on one side and a little table with three mismatched chairs. There's an old settee that breaks up the middle of the room with some crates in front of it--makeshift tables--and a bed in the corner, mostly hidden from sight with a little curtain. There are books scattered throughout, some of them on shelves with various knick knacks and some sitting in piles on the floor. The kid from the cafe who ate his strawberry tart is sitting on the couch, partially hidden from view under a blanket, and a man about Damen's age is standing in the kitchen, body telegraphing that he is ready for a fight. He sees an echo of Laurent in the man, the way he holds himself, maybe, though he's a bit taller. Their noses could be practically carbon copies of each other. The other kid has brown hair and doesn't look like he's related at all, but Damen knows it must be the younger brother.

Laurent has brought him to his home. 

"Hello," he says, falling back on manners instilled in him from birth. "Thank you for welcoming me into your home."

The kid on the couch snorts and falls out of view, and Laurent shuts the door snugly behind him.

********

Laurent instructs Damen to take off his shirt and sit at the table in clear, clipped tones. Damen does so, pulling the fabric of his shirt carefully over the blood stuck to it, and Laurent goes to the kitchen to grab a box off of one of the shelves. When he brings it over Damen's not too surprised to see that it is full of gauze, needles, alcohol, and other medical supplies. Laurent uses a clean cloth to wipe away the blood on Damen's arm, and the older brother--Damen knows it must be Auguste--comes over to look at it.

"It won't need stitches," he says.

"I know," Laurent answers shortly. He is not being gentle, and Damen jerks away involuntarily as he presses the cloth a little too far into the cut.

"Laurent, why don't you let me do that," Auguste says, his voice kind. "I've always been better at patching people up than you."

Damen wonders briefly how many times they've opened their house like this to bleeding people, and how many times they've stitched each other back up after a bad fight. He hadn't really thought of it before, but then, he hadn't really considered that Laurent lived somewhere like this. He should have, he thinks darkly. He had been too preoccupied with his own drama to pay attention to anyone else. 

"Fine," Laurent says, throwing down the already bloodied rag on the table. He steps away from the table and begins pacing in their small kitchen, watching Auguste tend to Damen's arm with keen, bright eyes.

"Why don't you tell me what happened," Auguste says to Laurent in a soothing voice. Damen has the feeling that he uses that voice often when Laurent gets like this.

"What happened was that this idiot followed me home, and he got jumped," Laurent spits. "If I hadn't saved him he would be naked in the streets right now and those brats from Green street would be pawning his clothes at first light."

"You were followed? Really?" says the kid, popping up from the couch. "That's not like you, Laurent."

"Not now, Nicaise," Auguste says lightly, and turns a slightly harsher look on Laurent. "Laurent, you need to calm down. Lord Damianos, please stop moving."

"Please, call me Damen," he says, working to keep still as Auguste instructed. "Formalities seem trivial when you're cleaning blood off of someone."

"All right, Damen," Auguste says, laughing a little and tying a piece of gauze around the cut, "no formalities, then. So do you want to explain why you were following my brother?"

"I was worried," Damen says, not able to take his eyes off of Laurent, who's still glaring at him. "He sounded like he was in serious trouble. I only wanted to help, but he wouldn't even listen to me."

"That sounds about right. Laurent?" Auguste asks, turning. "What's he talking about?"

"This... this busybody spoiled another one of my jobs," Laurent hisses. "I don't need his help, if he had just left me alone--"

"I didn't know what else I was supposed to do," Damen says quietly. "Anyone could have seen you there, you weren't even disguised that well. That man who stopped you before you ran upstairs was Lord Touars, did you know that? You met him at the theater last week. He could have recognized you."

"No one ever looks at the servants," Laurent says. "I could have been wearing a shirt that had my name embroidered across it and if I had on a servant's coat they still wouldn't have looked at me."

"I noticed," Damen points out.

"It is sloppy, Laurent," Auguste says.

"Auguste!" Laurent says, betrayed, and then turns his anger back to Damen. "You're just protecting your investment, that's all this is. It would be a lot of work to have to blackmail another safe cracker into doing this ridiculous job of yours, wouldn't it? It would take a while to be able to find someone as gullible as me to fall for this scheme."

"You know that's not true," Damen says quietly, the accusation slicing through him like a knife. "You made it sound like you would be in serious trouble and I just wanted to help. It's not about needing to find someone else, you know that it's not. I want to..." he stops, his heart aching with the words he knows he cant say. They had kissed, not too long ago.

"Well, everything looks good here," Auguste says, standing up and motioning to Nicaise, "but it looks like we're out of clean gauze. We should probably get some more. Come on, Nicaise. Let's go."

"But it's late and the stores are all closed---OW!" He cries out as Auguste grabs him by the collar.

"We'll be back in a bit. Laurent, don't be too harsh on him. He obviously means well. Damen..." but he stops, and doesn't finish that thought. He ushers Nicaise out of the apartment and tugs the door shut behind him.

Damen is alone with Laurent, and he can still feel the anger radiating off of him. He knows that it would be better if he could leave, let Laurent cool off for a bit, but he suspects that if he left now it was a real possibility that he would never see him again.

"I'm sorry," he says. "For everything. I was worried about you, Laurent, and you're right that I shouldn't have followed you. I put you in danger, and by having to bring me here I probably put your brothers in danger too."

Laurent doesn't answer him but he sits down warily on the other side of the table, and Damen takes that as a small sort of encouragement.

"And you were right, earlier. About...about how your employer and I are using you. How we're both asking the same things of you, and I can't pretend I'm any better just because I believe that what I'm doing is right, or just. You deserve more than to have people like us use you like this."

"You're not the same," Laurent says, and Damen can see the anger start to slip away from him. He stares down at the table, and he looks so tired. "I shouldn't have said that. If you knew him...you're not the same at all."

"But we're both using you for our own purposes," Damen says gently, "without really considering what you want. There's a saying, you know, about good intentions."

"Well if I'm heading towards hell I'd rather walk on good intentions than on fire and brimstone," Laurent says, looking up at him defiantly. "You're not the same, trust me. You let me pick out the clothes I wanted. You didn't ask me to pretend to be someone I'm not, even though it probably would have been easier for you. I think that if I wanted to leave you would let me, and I wouldn't have to worry about you coming after me. You're different where it counts."

"You're worried about him coming after you?" Damen asks, but Laurent just waves him away. He starts to clean up the mess of bloodied rags, putting the rest of the alcohol and the needles back neatly in the tin. "Laurent, I'm serious. How much trouble are you going to be in for not completing this job?"

"I don't know," Laurent admits. "I've never had a job go bad like this before. I'd say that I might get some lenience just based on that, but...he'll suspect something. I know he will."

"Is he going to hurt you?"

"No," comes the immediate answer. "No. He won't hurt me, he needs me too much and I'm the best safe cracker he's got. But..." Laurent doesn't finish the thought; he doesn't need to. Damen knows that sometimes the best way to hurt someone isn't through them, but through the ones they love.

"I should never have asked you to do this," Damen says. "I never considered how unfair it is to you to be put in this position. I wasn't thinking of anyone except myself."

Laurent shakes his head. "All you did was offer me a job. And even then it's the first one that I could have said no to, if I wanted. But I need the money. We need it. It could change everything, for us." He gestures around the room, a small space for three people to share. Damen can feel the wind from outside coming in through the walls. "And...I've never really thought about what I'd do, if I didn't break in to people's houses. I know I don't want to do this forever but I _am_ good at it, and I suppose in some ways I enjoy doing it for that reason. But people in our line of work don't really get to retire. It's impossible not to feel the weight of that whenever I'm doing a job, wondering if this one will be the one that does it."

"I'm not going to let that happen to you, Laurent."

Laurent huffs and looks over at him. "Come on. I can't believe I need to say this for the second time in as many weeks, but you need to put your shirt back on. I'll walk you home."

********

Their walk out of St. Giles is particularly less exciting than the walk in, and no one bothers them as they hurry through the mostly deserted streets. People give Laurent a wide berth, and Damen by association, and soon the buildings around them start to look nicer and the few people they do cross are better dressed and eye them less warily.

"So I am curious," Laurent says, stepping out of the way of a late night hansom, "how you managed to follow me. No one's been able to do that in years."

"Oh," Damen says, a little surprised by the question. "Well, I had a lot of practice in the army, I suppose. You weren't easy to follow, I'll give you that."

"You were in the army?"

"Yes, the British Armed Forces. You didn't know? I thought that Lady Eugenie mentioned something about it at the theater the other night when she was trying to shock you about the myriad of scandals I'm associated with."

Laurent snorts. "She mentioned something about you being in Asia, but I just assumed she meant you were on vacation."

"No," Damen says, letting out a bitter laugh, "it wasn't a vacation. I did visit a lot of different places but there was significantly more fighting and death than a typical vacation usually has."

"It's unusual, isn't it?" Laurent asks him. "For a Duke's son to be sent out like that?"

Damen shrugs. "Not really. My father bought me a commission when I was seventeen, and because of my extensive sword training and penchant for strategy I was sent to a lot of volatile locations. Nikandros went with me and he's the son of an Earl. I don't think it's that unusual."

"Hmm. And Kastor? What did he think of all this? He would have been what, twenty one?"

"Yes. He supported me wholeheartedly. He even helped to convince my father to buy me the commission; at first my father didn't want me to go at all, but between Kastor and I we managed to sway him. I've never seen my brother as happy as the day I was shipped off." 

"Happy because he was proud of you?" Laurent asks softly. "Or because he thought he was getting rid of you?"

"I--" Damen stops, suddenly, right in the middle of the road. Surely that wasn't really the case. Kastor _had_ been proud of him, had even been jealous of the fact that Damen was getting to go and have adventures like in the stories they were told as children, although Damen never had the heart to tell him the real life stories were nothing like that. There was no heroism in the things that he had to do, there was only blood and killing and men screaming for their mothers as they died. 

But he hadn't just wanted him out of the way, had he?

When Damen had to return home at his father's request it had been because Kastor had made a lot of bad investments, and Kastor had seemed genuinely happy to have him back to help fix the mess. Even when they had finally learned of the depths of Kastor's ruinous actions and his father had told Kastor he was being taken out of the succession he had seemed almost relieved to hear that Damen would be inheriting instead, not angry. And when Damen had earned their fortunes back through hard work and sound investments Kastor had always supported him, and hadn't done anything to disrupt that. At least up until their father's death. 

So why did Laurent's accusation ring so true?

"I don't know," he says finally. He's still standing in the road, rooted to the spot. He's not quite sure if he can make his feet move again. But then Laurent is next to him, curling his arm around Damen's and dragging him forward, and Damen is helpless to do anything except follow. They start walking again and even when Damen regains his composure and manages to put one foot in front of the other without assistance Laurent doesn't release him. He's grateful for it but he's afraid if he tells Laurent so he'll let him go, and so they walk in silence.

"Is that how you got your scars? From your time in the army?" Laurent asks him, squeezing his arm. Damen wonders if he notices he's doing it.

"Yes," Damen says. "I'm sorry. I know you dislike them. I'll make sure you don't have to see them again."

"Dislike them?" Laurent repeats. "That's not--" and he stops.

"That's not what?"

Laurent squeezes his arm tighter until Damen feels his fingers begin to tingle. "I don't dislike them."

"You've brought them up twice now," Damen says gently. "And you seem uncomfortable whenever you have to see them."

"Not because of that," Laurent mutters.

"What, then? Because I don't want to make you uncomfortable," Damen says, unable to ignore how much Laurent is fidgeting against him. He finally untangles himself from Damen's arm and puts some space between them, and Damen feels the cold against his side where the warmth of Laurent had just been.

"I'm not uncomfortable, okay? Just drop it."

"Okay, don't get mad. I understand. You're not the first one to think that they're ugly, I really don't mind."

"You're lying."

"I'm not. One of my former partners told me so directly, in fact."

"That's not the part you were lying about," Laurent says lightly, and takes a few steps forward and spins around so that he's facing Damen, blocking the way. "You're home."

Damen looks around; he hadn't realized that they had traveled so far so quickly, but they were standing on the end of his block. He could see a few lights sparkling from his windows; Jeeves was probably still waiting up for him.

"Oh, so we are. Well, I appreciate you walking me home."

"Wouldn't want you to get murdered by a group of ten year olds," Laurent says, the corners of his mouth playing at a smile.

"They were at least twelve," Damen says indignantly. "But thank you. For everything. I don't know if I said that yet."

"You haven't," Laurent says, "and you're welcome. And while we're setting the record straight I'd like for it to show that I truly don't think your scars are ugly."

"I appreciate that," Damen says, unable to keep from smiling back at him. "But I still think they make you uncomfortable."

"You oaf," Laurent says, rolling his eyes, "my comfort or lack thereof has nothing to do with your scars."

"And you still won't tell me what it is, then?"

Laurent sighs, and Damen can see him weighing the consequences of telling him this secret or keeping it and having Damen bug him about it forever.

"Fine. But you have to promise not to laugh, okay?"

"I would never," Damen says seriously.

"That was a lie, but fine. It's your whole..." he gestures vaguely at him, "just your whole thing, you know?"

"I most definitively don't know," Damen says, wondering if he should be offended.

"There's just...you have so many muscles," Laurent says, exasperated. "It doesn't seem like it should be possible. And honestly it doesn't seem like it should even be legal, to look like that."

Damen lets this information drift through him, feeling the revelation tingle through all of his fingers, toes, arms, legs. So that was why Laurent was so keen on not looking at him--he liked his muscles. Well, he hadn't said he liked them, necessarily, but Damen knew what he meant. A helpless bit of laughter escapes his lips, and Laurent sighs.

"I told you you were lying," he says. "I'm leaving. I have to get back home."

"Laurent, wait," Damen says, before he can get too far away. "Will you call on me in a few days?"

Laurent waves a hand in the affirmative, and Damen waits until he's completely out of sight before walking down the block to his own home.

He laughs the entire way there.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you know anything about the British army please don't yell at me, a person who pretty obviously does not.
> 
> We're back to Laurent's POV next chapter in "Gentlemen Prefer Blondes".


	5. Gentlemen Prefer Blondes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay so releasing these chapters every few days is giving me major anxiety. I'm just so excited to share and I want you guys to see the things I have in store for these dorks so badly and you've all been so perfectly sweet and lovely about everything and I can't wait! So I'll be bumping this up a bit and posting a new chapter every day because otherwise I'm going to drive myself crazy (I'm so bad at slow burn I can't even slow burn my own slow burn story). Which means by next Thursday this will be fully finished! AHHH

Laurent dutifully goes over to Damen's two days after they had fought and subsequently made a tentative sort of peace. In the moment that Damen had confronted him, had accused him of jeopordizing the mission for his own gain, Laurent had sworn that he would never again speak to the man, regardless of how much he was paying him.

And then the night had ended with Laurent complimenting Damen's ridiculous well formed chest and a promise to call on him in two days time. He still couldn't quite fathom the road that had taken him there.

He knew even at the time that he wasn't angry, not entirely. Anger was a part of it, certainly, but it wasn't what was driving that blazing core of Laurent's fury that night. He knew what it was, he had lived with it for as long as he could remember, as long as his uncle had been in the picture, since his parents died. It was fear, plain and simple. It took a lot more out of him to accept that then he had thought it would. He had never failed a mission before, not like this, and he wasn't sure how his uncle would respond to that, but Laurent had seen how he had dealt with others that had failed him. That would have been enough to make anyone fearful.

Eventually he and Auguste had come up with a plan to help mitigate the situation and Laurent was fairly confident that he had pulled it off. He didn't know who his uncle's source was, the one who gave him all the information about when and where to loot these safes, but Auguste had suggested that they point towards that source as being unreliable rather than Laurent. Since this was the first time that Laurent hadn't been able to accommodate his uncle's wishes he should be granted some leniency, and so when his uncle asked for the papers he was expecting Laurent calmly and composedly told him that the safe had been empty, and that there had been nothing there.

He was relatively certain his uncle believed him. He hadn't killed him outright, which Laurent frankly didn't expect in any case, but had only frowned, and turned to Govart and told him to take care of it. Laurent hoped that the source, whoever he was, had a good exit strategy.

Laurent takes the back way to Damen's estate, not wanting to risk the front door with the clothes he was wearing. He lets himself into the back through the servant's door, which was unlocked. Jeeves, who's sitting at the kitchen table nibbling on some bread, startles slightly at his entrance, and Laurent thinks that the small start has been the most emotion he had seen from the man yet. 

"Master Laurent," he says, wiping crumbs off his face. "We weren't expecting you so early."

"I'm sorry, is this not a good time? I could come back."

"No, no of course. Please, Master Damen has asked that I send you up as soon as you arrive. Please excuse my manners."

Laurent smiles--was he trying to excuse himself for eating breakfast?--but lets Jeeves lead him upstairs to a room that Laurent hasn't been in yet. Jeeves knocks solidly on the door and opens it, gesturing for Laurent to go inside. This must be Damen's study; books line all of the walls and a big, sturdy oak desk sits in the middle of the room. Papers sprawl across the desk, and even though Laurent can't tell what they say from this angle it looks as if Damen has been using it for some sort of actual work and not just for show. The wastebasket is full of crumpled paper.

"Oh Laurent, you came," Damen says, rising from a comfy looking chair in the corner of the room. Laurent's heart constricts at the relief he can hear in Damen's voice; he had been worried that Laurent would disappear, then. 

"I told you I would," he says, covering the feeling with annoyance. "Is there something urgent we need to discuss?"

Damen nods at Jeeves, who bows and closes the door.

"Yes," Damen says, coming over with a sheet of paper. "Here, sit down."

Damen hands him the sheet and Laurent looks over it. It takes him a second to realize that he's looking at a contract. He sees his name at the top, and some mention of money, but the legalese is dense enough that he can't quickly make out what it is saying.

"What's this?" he asks.

"I thought about what you said, the other night," Damen says, and Laurent briefly wonders which stupid thing he had said Damen was referring to, "and after giving it some thought, I came to the conclusion that I didn't feel comfortable anymore proceeding without this."

"Damen, what is this?" Laurent asks again, feeling a rising dread. Was this really what it looked like? Was that what Damen had taken away from their conversation, that Laurent needed to be legally wrangled into doing what they had agreed to? Was this going to prohibit him from taking other jobs, or working for other people, or some ridiculous thing like that?

"This is a contract stipulating our agreement," Damen says, his voice easy. "Obviously the original plan was a time based agreement, but I thought three months should be a generous estimation. If you sign this, it will guarantee that you get paid the agreed upon ten pounds a week for three months, with a bonus of a thousand pounds at the end of that time, just like I said."

"If we find the will," Laurent corrects.

But Damen shakes his head. "No. That's why I wanted to do this, Laurent. This contract only stipulates the payment I promised you. There are no conditions that you need to meet in order to receive that payment. None at all. You can go home right now and stay put for the next three months and this money will still be yours."

"But...." Laurent is having trouble understanding exactly what Damen is offering him, right now. "But you hired me to crack safes for you, don't you need me to--"

"I can't, Laurent," Damen says, his voice showing the first signs of cracking. "I shouldn't have asked you to do this in the first place, but I was being selfish and I thought that the ends justified the means. But after seeing you..." he pauses, and Laurent can only stare at him wordlessly as he rallies himself. "I won't be like him. Like your other employer. I won't have you put yourself at risk just because you need the money, and you were right, I did basically blackmail you into doing this, and I leveraged your future against my wants."

"Damen, you know that's not what--" but Damen stops him with a hand, and Laurent falls silent.

"Let me finish. This thing, this contract, is selfish too, in its own way. I realize that as well. I do want you to keep helping me, but I want you to do so because you want to. And I want you to have the freedom to leave when you need to, and not be bound to what I want. I want...I told you last week that I needed something to be real, between us, but it can't ever be real when what we have is built on bad foundations. So if you want to take this money and never see me again you can, and if that's what you really want to do then I want you to do that. And if you want to stay and help me as a friend, or for the challenge or because somewhere deep down you think it's right the right thing to do, then, well, I'd be glad for it. But from now on you're not doing it for the money. You've got that regardless of what you do."

Laurent wishes suddenly that Auguste was here, with him--someone he could trust to look at this offer from all angles, find out where the con is, what the hidden dangers are. But he knows that he won't find any, that Damen isn't trying to pull one over on him. The other day Laurent had told him that he was honest, and then in the days after he had showed him the ways in which he wasn't, had pointed out the hypocrisy in what he was doing. This was his way of making it right. This was his way of keeping himself honest. 

Laurent signs the contract--because really, he would be an idiot not to--and then looks over at Damen levelly.

"I could hardly leave you without even cracking one safe for you," he says. "And it would be a waste of Charls' work if I never got to go anywhere fancy with my new clothes. So we should probably come up with what our next steps are going to be, if you're ready to discuss it."

The smile Damen turns on him then is as bright as the sun, and Laurent is afraid it's going to burn him if he stares at it for too long.

"Not quite," he says. "I've got one more thing to show you." 

********

Laurent changes into some outing appropriate clothes at Damen's request, and they ride towards their next destination in his carriage. Laurent isn't sure what to say to him, how to thank him for what he'd done, but he suspects that Damen really doesn't need for him to say anything. 

He had kissed him, a few nights ago.

If Laurent had any suspicion that Damen was doing any of this for indecent reasons he would have taken the money and disappeared. But he was getting to know Damen better now, and he can almost get his mind around why he was doing this. It helped that the amount of money he was spending on Laurent probably amounted to a drop in the bucket for him, financially, but that was neither here nor there.

Damen had kissed him back.

Laurent was ready to defend himself if Damen brought it up. He would have told him that it was just a distraction technique, and that it hadn't meant anything, and that if he was expecting that it would happen again he would be sorely disappointed. But he hadn't brought it up, hadn't so much as mentioned it, and so Laurent didn't have to deploy any of his lies.

And Damen _had kissed him back_. He could tell that he was surprised, at first, at the furious assault but that had quickly turned into something else. Laurent had been rough and he had not gone easy on him and Damen had responded to it like he _liked_ it, had _liked_ Laurent biting and licking into his mouth, and Damen had opened up for him, letting him inside before that servant had interrupted them. Which Laurent knew would happen, of course. That was why he had done it in the first place. But he also wonders what would have happened if they hadn't been interrupted, how far would he have gone? How far would Damen have let him go?

"We're here," Damen says, startling him out of his thoughts. Laurent looks over to see that they're at a hotel--not the Hotel de Ville to be sure but a respectable, clean looking place.

"Should I have brought a chaperone with me?" Laurent asks him dryly, allowing Damen to help him out of the carriage. 

Damen rolls his eyes. "It's not like that. Come on, I'll show you."

The concierge recognizes Damen by name and lets them through and Damen leads Laurent up the stairs to the second floor, unlocking the only door on the right hand side of the hallway. He gestures for Laurent to go in and he does, pretending that his heart isn't about to beat itself out of his chest.

The room is large, and this is obviously only the first room of many; Laurent can see a hallway leading off to the right, and a few more doors in the opposite direction as well. The furniture isn't gaudy but it looks sturdy and well cared for, and there's a large selection of books scattered throughout with not quite enough bookcases to contain them all. Laurent's fingers itch just looking at them.

"Do you like it?" Damen asks him, as he takes a look around the place. "It's yours, if you want it. You and your brothers."

"What do you mean, mine?" Laurent asks.

"I mean that people are starting to ask questions about you, and if you want to continue on this mission with me you'll need to have your own place to receive them. This is a respectable hotel for bachelors, and no one will look at you askance here. Plus you can keep your clothes here, instead of at my house, and use them as you see fit. And it's safe."

Laurent knows he's thinking of his house in St. Giles, and how he was attacked there; Laurent never had any problems, of course, because of who he worked for, but this place radiated a kind of safety that he had never allowed himself to think of.

"It would help me out, as well," Damen continues, when Laurent doesn't say anything. "I could call on you here if I needed to find you, which would set my mind at ease. Oh, and there's also a man who lives down the hall, a retired teacher. I asked if he might be interested in giving some lessons, and he said he'd be amenable to that..."

"For Nicaise?" Laurent asks softly, walking over to a stack of books on the floor by the couch and flipping through them, making sure they're real. "You found a teacher for Nicaise?"

"If you want," Damen says, a little embarrassed. "I don't want to presume, but he seems like a smart kid who's maybe not getting enough schooling. You don't have to, if you think I'm overstepping."

"It's too much," Laurent says, looking around, feeling the start of panic blossom in his breast. "All of this, it's just--"

"I own these rooms," Damen interrupts him. "I stayed in them a few years ago while my estate was being remodeled. At the time it made more sense to buy them outright. It's been empty since then and I truly have no use for it. It makes sense to have you live here, both for your convenience and mine. It's not entirely altruistic, I promise. And it's not costing me anything to offer them to you."

Auguste and Nicaise were never going to believe this. They were never going to believe that someone like Damen existed, and that he was just giving him all of this and for nothing, expecting nothing from him. People like him didn't exist, not in their world and Laurent was certain not in most other worlds either, and yet here he was, offering him everything he could ever want. It didn't make sense; he should say no.

"I'll have to talk to my brothers about it," Laurent says finally, and Damen smiles.

"I figured. Now, I believe we had a planning session to start?"

********

It doesn't take long for Laurent and his brothers to move into the hotel. Auguste was wary, as Laurent had expected him to be, but he hadn't put up the kind of fight that Laurent had been prepared for.

"It makes sense," Auguste had said, echoing Damen's sentiments as they packed up what few belongings they felt they couldn't do without for the next few months. They weren't moving out entirely; Auguste had a friend who was going to be squatting in their old place for a reasonable amount of rent, just to make sure no one unsavory moved in and to hopefully keep up the illusion that they were still living there in case their uncle decided to come check up on them. "It's what I would do, if I had an unlimited amount of money and was running the kind of job that you and Damen are trying to pull off."

And the more he thinks about it, the more he realizes that he and Damen really _were_ trying to pull this off together. It wasn't Damen's job with Laurent along as a tool, not anymore. The freedom Damen had given him by technically releasing him from his employment had allowed him to begin to think about the situation in a new light, one where he had an almost personal interest in the situation. Maybe that had been Damen's plan all along. Maybe that was the con. If so, Laurent wasn't sure he really minded. The freedom of choice tugged at the edge of his awareness in a way he had never really felt before.

"You know," Auguste says, when Nicaise slips out of the room to go bother the servants in the kitchen downstairs, "that we appreciate these new rooms. But if you're having to do anything that you don't feel comfortable with--"

"I already told you, that's not what's happening," Laurent says, irritated. "Did you listen at all when I was telling you about the contract?"

"I listened," Auguste says, smiling. "I also saw the way you were looking at him when you brought him home the other night."

"If you mean that I was looking at him like I was going to murder him, then you're right," Laurent says.

"He's not bad looking on the eyes, you know," Auguste pushes.

"So you keep saying. If you think you can manage to stop drooling for two seconds I can introduce you formally, if you like."

"Maybe I would like," Auguste says, leaning back on the sofa. "I could get used to this life of luxury. I bet I'd have him wrapped around my finger in under a week. Plus I have a sneaking suspicion that he prefers blondes."

"Well then he's going to have to look elsewhere," Laurent says, lobbing one of the numerous throw pillows scattered around the room at Auguste's face, "because you can hardly be called a blonde. Dirty blonde might even be too kind for whatever kind of straw colored nonsense is going on up there."

"I'll take dirty blonde," Auguste says, waggling his eyebrows, and Laurent starts groaning before he even finishes his sentence, "and I have a feeling he would too."

"Auguste."

"Laurent."

Laurent stares at his older brother for a moment in pure exasperation but Auguste is very practiced in taking that kind of heat from Laurent and he returns it easily. In the end it's Laurent who breaks first, the corners of his mouth turning up in a smile for only a moment before he starts laughing in earnest, and Auguste is only able to hold out long enough to claim a decisive victory in their contest before he's laughing too. Laurent loves the sound of his brother's laugh; he doesn't get to hear it as often as he likes, and lately it's been tinged with a sort of sadness that makes Laurent's heart ache. He goes over and flops on the couch next to Auguste, leaning his head against his shoulder, and for a moment they just sit, enjoying each other's presence.

"I kissed him," Laurent says eventually. "A few days ago."

"Dammit," Auguste says easily, and then sighs. "And?"

"And nothing. I needed a distraction, and we were about to get caught by a servant and he was yelling at me and I thought it would be a good way to shut him up."

"Was it?"

"Was it what?"

"Good," Auguste says, and Laurent groans and buries his head into Auguste's shoulder.

"I don't want to talk about it."

"There's other ways to create a distraction, you know."

"I know."

"You could have pretended to be talking," Auguste says.

"We _were_ talking."

"Well then you didn't even have to pretend."

"God, Auguste, stop."

"You could have fainted."

"Okay, I get it."

"You could have laid down on the couch and said your feet hurt from dancing."

"That's enough."

"You could have done the old classic 'I lost my earring and this handsome gentlemen was helping me look for it in the dark' bit."

"I don't know if that one's been accepted into the official con man's guide yet," Laurent says dryly. "But if it comes up at the next meeting let me know."

"You'd make a terrible con artist," Auguste says fondly. "I'm glad I could save you from that, if from nothing else."

Laurent looks up worriedly at the way Auguste says that, but Auguste waves him away. "No, stop, I'm not being maudlin, I swear. I have more important things to be upset about right now," he says, as Nicaise knocks and lets himself in, his arms full of treats from the kitchen. Laurent hopes that he charmed those off the staff and didn't steal them; he'd have to find out the truth later.

"Nicaise, you scoundrel, I feel I must inform you that you have bankrupted me," Auguste says dramatically, pushing up off of the couch and collecting some of the sweets that Nicaise had dropped from his overstuffed arms. "I have just learned that I owe you five shillings."

Nicaise's eyes snap over to Laurent, and he smiles wickedly. "Already? Wait, was five shillings for the kissing, or was that for--"

"Don't!" Auguste says, slapping a hand over Nicaise's mouth. "If you say any more all future bets are forfeit."

"Mmmm," Nicaise says, nodding, and Auguste removes his hand. 

"You guys are betting on me?" Laurent asks, unbelieving. "About me and--"

"I bet that he would kiss you first," Auguste says. "I'm usually never wrong about these sorts of things. I must have underestimated your attraction--"

"Not. Another. Word." Laurent hisses, knowing that his face is probably bright red right now. "I will murder you both."

"I had faith in you, brother," Nicaise says proudly, ignoring the fury that Laurent is sending his way. "I knew that you wouldn't just wait around, and that you would take what you wanted. It's good to be proactive."

"Oh my god, I can't listen to this anymore," Laurent says, covering his face with his hands. "I can't believe I have the two most evil brothers in the entire world."

"I brought you a cookie," Nicaise says, jumping on the couch and climbing in Laurent's lap. "If I give it to you, will you forgive me?"

"It's hardly a bribe if you brought it for me anyway," Laurent says, taking the cookie, "but I'll consider this a first installment in your steps towards being declared acceptable."

"That doesn't seem fair," Nicaise pouts.

"What's not fair is having brothers who enjoy embarrassing me," Laurent says, as Auguste sits down on the other side of him and steals a tart from Nicaise's stash. "Even as they sit here enjoying the spoils of my work."

"Oh yes, it must be very hard to walk around on the arm of an attractive gentleman and snipe at rich people," Auguste says. "Poor you."

"And kiss them!" Nicaise shouts helpfully. Laurent ruffles his hair, which earns him a scowl.

"Trust me, it is not happening again," Laurent says, and he ignores the look Auguste and Nicaise share. "I may be stupid, but I'm not that stupid."

"You're not stupid," Nicaise says irritably. "He'd be lucky to have you." A pause, and then, "even if he is an idiot who got jumped by a bunch of ten year olds from Green street."

*******

It doesn't take Damen long to come calling. He shows up early the next evening, asking if Laurent has plans for the night, and Laurent has to tell him that he doesn't as he simultaneously ignores Nicaise making kissy faces in the doorway. It's nice to have all of his clothes in his own space, and at Damen's direction he puts on something appropriate and Damen whisks him away in his carriage.

Damen sits easily on the opposite bench of the carriage, relaxed in a way that Laurent hasn't previously seen from him. He doesn't think it's because of wherever they're going, but because of their new relationship--tenuous, still, but more real and solid than it had been previously. Laurent hadn't realized how much of a strain it was on Damen to pretend even at this small thing, but it's obvious that something has changed between them, and for the better. 

"So are you going to tell me where we're going, or am I going to be surprised?" Laurent asks, peeking out the window.

"I think you will be surprised," Damen says, smiling, "but we're going to a gaming hell."

"Any reason? Or do you just feel like giving away more money to the unwashed masses?"

That gets him a look. "My brother often goes there, and I heard a rumor he might be there tonight. He's holding a party at one of his country estates next week, and I'm hoping that if we bump into him that he'll feel compelled to invite us."

"And I'm assuming that country estate is one of the places you'd like me to help you investigate," Laurent finishes.

"Exactly," Damen says. 

"You know," Laurent muses, "we should make a list of all of the possible places you think the will might be hidden, and rank them based on the likelihood that it's there. That we we could plan on getting invitations to those places first, and whittle down the list that way."

"Very organized," Damen says, smiling.

"And you should also write down any safe locations that you know off the top of your head. It might even be worth bribing some of the servants, if there's anyone you trust, to give you a more precise location if you don't know." Laurent looks up to see Damen smiling fondly at him, and he narrows his eyes. "What?"

"Nothing. I just like this, is all."

"What?"

Damen shrugs. "Just the way you talk about it now. Like you enjoy helping me."

Laurent doesn't know what to do with that, mostly because he's a little unnerved Damen had seen through him so easily, and they sit in silence the rest of the way there.

When the carriage stops and Laurent hops out he sees an unassuming, plain looking building in front of them, the only indication that it was anything other than a residential home the bright windows and sound of laughter and music coming from inside. The rest of the street was deserted, without even any other lights to indicate that anyone else lived on this street.

"Are you sure we're at the right place?" he asks, venturing up the steps. Damen steps up to him and grabs his hand, startling him for a moment before he relaxes into the warmth of his fingers.

"I'm sure," he says, and they go inside.

*******

An extremely formal concierge greets them at the door, welcoming Damen by name and turning a blind eye in the all knowing way that servants had to the fact that they were still holding hands. He leads them down an empty hallway to a set of double doors, which he throws open in a seemingly uncharacteristic display of theatricality.

A room easily as big as the entire mansion is sprawled out before them and filled to the brim with bright, shiny people. Well dressed ladies and gentlemen sit at blackjack tables, craps tables, roulette tables, any kind of gambling that anyone could ever want seems to be available here. Men and women wearing significantly less clothing work their way through the crowd either encouraging players to gamble more, to go again, to bet more money, or in some cases take the partying elsewhere. Small alcoves around the edge of the room provide poorly lit areas where there's more private business going on, although Laurent doesn't think that anyone's actually fucking in there. He's pretty sure, at least. When he turns back the doors are closed, and they're completely enveloped into the hedonism of the room.

"Watch out," Damen says, squeezing his hand gently as a burly man smiles and comes up to Damen, slapping his shoulder in what Laurent suspects is supposed to be a friendly greeting.

"Damen!" He calls out merrily. Laurent can practically smell the alcohol from here. "By the gods I didn't think I'd ever see you here, you straight laced son of a bitch. Who's your friend?" He gives Damen a knowing look.

"This is my fiancé, Laurent de Vere," Damen says, "Laurent, this is Makedon, an old friend of mine from my days with the British Army."

"You brought your fiancé here?" Makedon asks, glaring at Laurent before turning back to Damen. "How uncouth. This is where everyone comes to get away from their responsibilities, you know."

"Well, some of us may actually like our prospective partners," Damen says good naturedly, squeezing Laurent's hand again. "Say, you haven't seen my brother, have you?"

Makedon laughs. "Speaking of getting away from responsibilities..." he doesn't answer, only waves a hand in what can only loosely be described as 'a direction'. "He's here somewhere, I'm sure. Usually is." And then he wanders off, stumbling a little and waving over one of the scantily clad ladies to bring him another drink.

"I have a feeling that you've not brought me to a respectable establishment," Laurent says once Makedon is gone. He peers through the crowd and sees a few people he recognizes, men and women from that night at the theater, although he can't recall any names. "I'm guessing I should avoid asking after anyone's spouse if we have to make small talk."

"That would probably be a safe bet," Damen says, a wry smile playing on his lips, "and that's something I didn't think I'd ever say about this place. It would be better if we didn't have to make small talk at all, though. Come on. Lets find a place to sit down."

They find an empty alcove and sit down on the long u-shaped couch inside, with Damen taking the seat across from Laurent so that they're facing each other. A tiny table used for drinks sits in between them. Laurent's glad it's dim in here; it prevents him from seeing how dirty the cushions he's sitting on are. He can easily see the people milling about in the main room, although he knows they can't see him due to how dark it is, and he watches as a man who looks vaguely familiar stumbles by them and tries to right himself with the help of his companion, a much younger man who has a string of shiny beads in his hair and who looks nothing like the man's wife, who Laurent's pretty sure he met at the theater last week.

"Why did you bring me here?" Laurent turns from people watching.

"To get an invitation from my brother. I told you, remember?"

"Oh yes, it was an extremely complicated plan and I forgot already. No, I mean why did you bring me? You would've fit in more easily if you brought an escort, or if you brought no one at all."

"Oh," Damen says, and shrugs. "I'm not really sure. I thought you might enjoy it. And I...wanted you here, I guess." He shrugs, as if that admission cost him nothing. "If you want to leave--"

"I don't," Laurent says quickly. "I was just curious as to your reasoning. It seems that this is the one place where pretending to be your fiancé might actually be a detriment to what we're trying to do."

" _Are_ you pretending?" Damen asks him, leaning back on the couch and spreading his arms. "You're sitting awfully far away, for someone who's supposed to be in love with me."

"Maybe I'm not in love with you, then, and I'm just marrying you for your money," Laurent says, leaning back himself. If Damen thought he was going to rise to a challenge that obvious he had another thing coming. "And maybe I'm angry because I know that you'll lose all that money by the end of the night when you finally give in to your roulette addiction."

"You would need to find another fiancé, if that were the case," Damen says speculatively. He points over to where a rotund gentleman is leaning heavily over the craps table, leering greedily at the dice and hardly paying any attention to the two women he has gripped in either arm or how much of his drink he's spilling on them. "Lord Guion is insanely rich. You could try him next; no matter how he gambles he never quite seems to make a dent in his fortune, so you wouldn't have to worry about the roulette."

Laurent crinkles up his nose. "Thank you, I do have _some_ standards."

"Oh?" Damen asks casually, although Laurent notices the slight tension in his arms when he says it. "And what would those standards be, pray tell?"

"Besides being insanely rich?"

"Besides that."

Laurent considers it for a moment. "He'd have to be fit, I think."

"Are you saying that because you actually care about that, or because you want to take Lord Guion out of contention?"

"Both. And he'd have to be educated. But not so educated that he's smarter than I am."

Damen smiles. "As if that's even possible. What else?"

 _Tall. Dark. Handsome. The works,_ Laurent thinks.

"He'd have to be kind," he says instead, "to make up for the fact that I'm not."

Damen frowns at this, and sits forward. "Laurent--"

"And respectable, to make up for the fact that I'm not that either."

"Laurent," Damen says again, a little more forceful this time, and this time Laurent stops. "Come here," he says gently. Laurent stills for a moment, unsure of how to answer the tender cadence he can hear in Damen's voice, but he calls him over again--"Please?"--and Laurent finds himself moving before he can think better of it. He sits down next to Damen, who shifts so that they're facing each other.

"You don't have to do that, you know," Damen says, taking one of Laurent's hands in his own and running his fingers absently over his knuckles.

"Do what?" Laurent asks, trying not to focus on the hypnotic way Damen's hands are moving over his own, of how close the two of them are, of how he had just told his brothers that he wasn't going to kiss Damen again but how he knows that if Damen leans in he won't pull away.

"You make excuses for yourself," Damen says, "but you don't need to. You're one of the best people I've ever known. Hell, you're even less of a criminal than most members of the _ton_ ; you're just more honest about it than they are." 

"And what about you?" Laurent says, in a desperate attempt to get the focus off of himself to prevent Damen from saying any other ridiculous things that make the butterflies in his stomach flutter about helplessly. "What about your standards? For a real fiancé, of course, not a pretend one."

"Well let's see," Damen says, reaching up to tuck an errant strand of Laurent's hair behind his ear, "since you started off with a physical one, I'll go ahead and admit that I've always had a thing for blondes." 

"Oh," breathes Laurent, knowing he's blushing and not caring in the least. "What else?" 

"They'd have to--" 

"Damen!" Booms a voice from the other end of the alcove, startling the both of them. "I'm not interrupting anything, am I?" 

"Actually, Makedon..." Damen starts, sounding exasperated. 

"You'll have all the time in the world to canoodle with your fiancé later. Come on, I've found your brother. You wanted to speak to him, right?" 

Damen looks like he's going to argue the fact, but Laurent puts a hand on his arm. "You should go talk to him, Damen. That's what we came here for, after all." 

Damen closes his eyes for a second before sighing deeply. "All right. You'll wait here, won't you?"

"Of course," Laurent says, leaning back into the plush embrace of the couch. "I'll be here."

Damen stares at him for another second before pushing up and joining Makedon, who throws a friendly arm around his shoulders. Damen is stiff as he walks away, and Laurent groans and covers his eyes. What was he _doing_? How was it that Damen kept overturning every defense that he had, leaving him bare and exposed like this? Laurent had a sixth sense for people trying to manipulate him, to bend him to their will, and he was incredibly good at evading them and turning people's plans on their head before they even knew what was happening. But Damen had the power to undo him without even trying, just by being himself--his honest, honorable, infuriating self. It was dangerous, beyond dangerous, to continue with this. He should just take the money and tell Damen he was on his own.

He should, and yet he already knows that he won't. He was getting soft.

"Want some company?" A voice calls from the other side of the alcove, startling him out of his thoughts.

Laurent groans, and turns toward this new intruder. For the second time this night he wishes these blasted rooms had doors on them.

"No," he says, a little harsher than he intends. "No I do not."

"But you look so lonely," the man says, strutting towards him. Laurent can't quite make out his features in the dark of the room but he's a trim, young man with long hair and something about him twinges at Laurent's memory. "You always were one to deny your inner desires, Laurent," the man says, and plops down artlessly on the couch, settling his head into Laurent's lap.

"Ancel?" Laurent says, and the redhead smiles up at him. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> YOU GUYS you have no idea how excited I am about Ancel. He's pure chaos energy. Ugh I can't wait. He'll be in the next chapter titled Guess Who's Coming to Dinner.


	6. Guess Who's Coming for Dinner

"I knew you'd recognize me," Ancel says, grinning up at Laurent, "although I have to say, I never thought I'd run into you here. And with _such_ a handsome man."

"Don't, Ancel," Laurent says, warning.

"Are you running a job on the Akielos family?" Ancel asks, looping a piece of red hair through his fingers and twirling it around. "Does the Regent have you pulling cons now too?"

Laurent shoves Ancel up off of his lap and Ancel laughs at him, putting his hands up in surrender.

"Okay, okay. Still touchy about your uncle; I understand that well enough, sweetheart. Don't worry, I won't tell your new beau."

"He knows," Laurent says shortly. "About me. About what I do. So don't think you're doing me any favors."

"He knows!" Ancel exclaims, clapping. "Well then it must be a love match for sure. Honestly I didn't think you had it in you, but I'm proud of you."

"What do you want, Ancel," Laurent says flatly. 

Ancel pouts, and Laurent suspects that on any other person those pursed lips and big green puppy dog eyes might actually work. Their history, however, was far too long and complicated for that to be effective on him, and Laurent only frowns back.

"Fine," says Ancel, giving up quickly when he senses that he isn't going to win this one. "I only came over to say hello. And to find out how it is you got one of the hottest, richest bachelors wrapped around your little finger." Ancel crawls toward him on the couch until they're almost touching, and he brings up a finger to run gently against Laurent's cheek. "But I bet we both know the answer to that, don't we, gorgeous?"

Laurent reaches up and snatches Ancel's wrist and Ancel smiles wickedly at him.

"You always did like it rough," Ancel whispers, sending a shiver up Laurent's spine despite himself, and he pushes Ancel away from him.

"Laurent?" Comes Damen's voice from the entrance to their alcove. Laurent sighs; he really did hate that there were no doors here. "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine," he says, as Ancel comes back over and drapes his arms across Laurent's shoulders. "I just seem to have acquired a parasite while you were gone."

"How dare you," Ancel says mildly. "My lord, please take a seat. I was just admiring your beautiful fiancé and telling him what a lucky man he is to have found you. Although you're pretty lucky too, you know. Tell me, do you not think he's one of the most gorgeous people you've ever seen?"

"He is," Damen says simply, sitting across from the two of them. Laurent searches his face for the lie but doesn't see anything, but then again it was just a two word answer. It didn't mean anything. "I don't think I've had the pleasure of your acquaintance."

"Oh, such a gentleman. Stop, or I'll start swooning," Ancel says, running his fingers through Laurent's hair. "Darling, introduce us please."

"Ancel, Lord Damianos. Damen, Ancel," he says shortly. 

"You'll have to excuse his rudeness," Ancel says, "although I'm sure by now you're used to that. We're old friends, Laurent and I. We go way back."

"Did you grow up together in St. Giles?" Damen asks politely, although Laurent can't help but notice the way his fists are bunched tightly by his side.

Ancel laughs, delighted. "So he _does_ know! I thought you were lying, darling, but he really does know all about you, doesn't he?"

"I told you he did," Laurent says, trying to brush Ancel off of him, but Ancel doesn't move away and only snakes his arm further around Laurent's shoulders, causing Damen to flinch.

"Look at that, darling," Ancel whispers, low enough so Damen can't hear, "such a tortured soul. He so obviously doesn't like anyone else touching you but we make such a delightful pair, don't you think? He doesn't know whether to punch me or sit back and enjoy the show."

"There's no show," Laurent says crossly.

"There could be," Ancel says, looking back and forth between the two speculatively. "Lord Damianos, have you ever heard of the Black Orchid?"

"No," Laurent says forcefully, at the same time Damen replies in the negative.

"I was just curious," Ancel says, shrugging, and then turns to address Damen. "It's just a little club that I own. Very exclusive."

"Oh," Damen says, shooting Laurent a curious look. "I didn't know. I...figured you worked here."

"Here?" Ancel says, laughing delightedly. "Oh my, no. No, I'm here with my husband, who has a charming fascination with watching drunk people lose all their money at craps. I can't say I see the fun in it, but I usually find a way to entertain myself," he says, running his hand delicately down Laurent's arm. "Speaking of, would you like to see what kind of entertainment Laurent and I can provide for you? I'm sure he's out of practice, knowing him, but I'm good enough for the both of us."

"Ancel, stop," Laurent says.

"I think what I'd really like is for you to let Laurent decide what he wants to do, and stop pushing him," Damen says. Laurent can hear the threat in his voice and although a part of him wants to snap that he can handle himself, he's a little grateful for the backup. 

"Oh," Ancel says, breathless. "Oh he _is_ delightful, Laurent. How about this," he says, untangling himself and making his way over to Damen. He doesn't touch him, only looks at him curiously, and Damen eyes him back warily. "I want the two of you to come visit me at the Orchid."

"That's not going to happen," Laurent says, crossing his arms.

"Just to play. Just for a little bit," Ancel says. "You two would be very popular, I think. And it doesn't have to be anything...lewd."

"It could hardly be otherwise, knowing the Orchid," Laurent says. 

"Oh hush," Ancel says. "You've never even been there."

"I've heard stories. I know that you own it. That should be enough of a red flag for anyone."

"He's got some teeth on him, doesn't he?" Ancel says, turning to Damen again. "It's an acquired taste, I think."

"It's one I enjoy," Damen says, and Laurent's heart gives a little traitorous flutter, even if Damen is only saying it to provoke Ancel. "If Laurent says that he doesn't want to go then we're not going."

Ancel falls back against the couch again, this time pouting for real. Laurent doesn't say anything, only stares at him while he waits for the next onslaught. He doesn't dislike Ancel; they had been close once, as close as Laurent could be to anyone who wasn't one of his brothers. That shared history was the only reason Laurent put up with his excessive touchiness--it was familiar, coming from him, and Laurent knew it was mostly harmless.

Mostly.

"Fine," Ancel says, flipping his hair over his shoulder in a way that sets all of Laurent's nerves on alert. "I suppose having one Akielos come to the Orchid is enough for me, even if it isn't the handsome one." 

"Stop," Damen says. "I do not want to know about my brother's...proclivities."

"But that's the thing, darling. He didn't come for any services, didn't even ask about them. He only came to make a business connection with one of my regulars. A very interesting connection, I think, in light of what happened after."

"Who was it?" Laurent asks, his voice hard. "Ancel, who was the regular?"

"Oh, I can hardly remember," Ancel says, shooting Laurent a calculated look, "but perhaps..."

"I can pay you for information," Damen says, "if you know something about my brother that you think I might want to hear."

"I'm not interested in money, sweetheart. I'm in this for the spectacle," he says, getting up and stretching, showing off his long limbs. He walks over to Laurent and leans over, kissing him on the cheek and lingering just a little too long. "Come see me, darling. I promise you'll have fun," he whispers, and then he turns, winks at Damen, and sweeps out.

"Well," Laurent says, looking over at Damen in their now temporarily abandoned alcove, "I think I've had enough excitement for the evening. Please tell me you got the invitation."

"I did," Damen says, watching warily as Ancel swishes across the main floor. "Laurent, how do you--"

"No. No more questions tonight," Laurent says standing up and gesturing for Damen to follow him. "You've brought me to this den of sin and I think that little exchange has exhausted most of those sins except for greed. I say we either call it a night and go home to save what's left of our souls or we can finish it off and you can buy me a bunch of tokens that I can go lose at the blackjack table."

"Blackjack it is," Damen says, and when he offers his arm, Laurent takes it.

*******

"Dinner will be served in fifteen minutes," a servant says, interrupting the polite murmuring in the ornately decorated drawing room. The guests nod and go back to their conversations.

"Is it entirely possible that Kastor won't even show up on time to attend dinner at his own house?" Laurent asks Damen, pitching his voice so no one else would be able to hear him.

"It wouldn't be the first time," Damen murmurs. "At one of his parties he didn't even show up until three days after it had started."

"Well that would make our job slightly easier," Laurent says, shrugging. He didn't really care much either way; he wasn't in a hurry to meet the man, truth be told.

"I'd rather have him where I can see him," Damen says, "then have to guess where he'll show up. Although I wouldn't mind if you needed to use me to help you with another distraction."

"Animal," Laurent says evenly as Damen grins at him, and he takes a sip of his sherry to hide his blush.

The doors to the room open again, too soon to be the commencement of dinner, and a well dressed man walks in with an attractive blonde woman on his arm. Laurent immediately knows the man must be Kastor; his build and physical profile is similar to Damen's, but there's something cruel about the turn of his mouth that doesn't sit easy with Laurent, and his eyes are cold and mean with none of the easy warmth that Damen has. This man, Laurent knows with an instinctive certainty, would have had Laurent on his knees to get those papers back if it had been him that found him that night instead of Damen, regardless of the way his sexual preferences went. 

"Shit," mutters Damen, placing his hand on the small of Laurent's back and bringing him closer. "I didn't know she would--"

"Brother!" Kastor calls out, spotting Damen at the back of the room. From his tone Laurent wonders if Kastor had been missing all day because he had been drinking, but as he comes closer he thinks that doesn't appear to be the case. Just a boor, then. The woman on his arm looks over Laurent in the same way that Laurent looked at those kids that night when they had encroached upon his territory and hurt Damen, and it sets his hackles on edge.

"Kastor," Damen says, reaching a hand out, but Kastor drags him close and hugs him tightly, patting him on the back in a way that has Laurent reevaluating his previous thought about him not being drunk.

"I'm so happy you decided to come," Kastor says, like it hadn't been Damen's express purpose last week to get an invite here. "I was afraid you were just being polite by accepting my invitation, in light of...of everything, brother. I'm glad you're here." 

"You know I'd do anything for you. You're family, Kastor," Damen says, heartbreaking in his obvious sincerity. Laurent has to fight down a sudden and violent urge to punch Kastor in the face. "And speaking of family, I want to introduce you to my fiancé, Laurent de Vere."

Kastor looks him over with a coolness that Laurent might just have challenged him on if they had been alone, but he reaches a hand out anyway. "Charmed, I'm sure. You look just like someone my brother would take up with."

"And you're just as pleasant as he's made you out to be," Laurent says sweetly. Damen coughs.

"And of course you know Jokaste," Kastor says, introducing the woman on his arm. 

She gives Damen a long, cool look. "We've met," she says, arching a delicate eyebrow. Damen coughs again.

Well. Laurent would have to get that story out of him soon.

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Lord Laurent," she says, offering her hand. Laurent takes it and hovers his lips over her skin, very carefully not touching her. She withdraws her hand and gives Laurent a frosty gaze, which he returns with a bright smile.

"It was so kind of you to invite us to your estate," Laurent says, wrapping his arm around Damen's and bringing him in close. Jokaste's eye twitches. "Damen and I have been in the city for far too long. It's nice to breathe some fresh country air."

"Oh? How long have you been in London, Lord Laurent? I'm sure I would have remembered seeing someone like you around last season, but your name isn't ringing any bells," Jokaste says, and Laurent suppresses a wince. He would have to be careful, around her. 

"I've only been there about six months or so," Laurent says, reciting the cover story that the two of them had invented for just such an occasion. "The rest of my family is stationed in India, but they decided I should come to London for at least a few seasons and, well, here we are," he finishes, looking up at Damen and hoping they didn't ask any more questions.

"Six months?" Jokaste says, turning a knowing look on Damen. "That's unusually fast for you. Tell me Damen, how did the two of you meet?"

Laurent pushes down the spike of anxiety that flares up at this questions--he knew how bad Damen was at lying, and if he didn't miss his mark he was willing to bet that Jokaste knew it too. Hopefully Damen could sell whatever he was about to say.

"It was just fate, I think," Damen says, gazing down at Laurent. "Our eyes met from across the room and as soon as I saw him I knew he was everything that I could ever ask for."

"He's such a romantic," Laurent says, to cover his surprise. Damen had sold that lie convincingly; even Laurent couldn't tell that he was just making it up, and by the sour look on Jokaste's face he guessed that she couldn't either. Well, maybe some of Laurent's skills were rubbing off on him. 

"Well I'm sure we have nothing so romantic here as a gaming hell, but we do try," Jokaste says, and Laurent takes note of the way she says 'we'. "You must tell me, Lord Laurent, how you got our Damen here to agree to accompany you. It wasn't too long ago that he wouldn't be caught dead in a place like that, but I suppose new acquaintances can show us sides of ourselves that we never knew we had."

"Actually, I was the one who asked Laurent to accompany me," Damen says. Laurent beams up at him proudly.

"And it was such a delightful evening. I find that the destination sometimes isn't as important as the kind of company you keep while going there. Don't you agree, Madame Jokaste?"

"Indeed," she says, after a second's pause. "Lord Laurent, Damen, please excuse us, we have other guests to greet. I think we'll talk later, though."

"We're at your convenience, Madame," he says, and he and Damen bow slightly as the two take their leave.

"Well," says Laurent, once they're out of earshot, "that was an experience. You should have told me, Damen."

"Told you what?"

Laurent pinches him, and Damen does a fairly decent job of not squirming. "Told me that you have some sort of history with your brother's new lover."

"She's not his lover," Damen says, faltering a little. "She's just--"

"A guest? A friend? A safe cracker that he hired to pretend to be his lover? Come on, Damen."

Damen rubs a hand over his face and Laurent wonders briefly how he's managed to survive this long in this kind of society with the way that his emotions play out so openly across his features. Guests are mingling all around them in the parlor, and Damen gestures for Laurent to follow him out. They do so without drawing undue attention, although Laurent can feel Jokaste's eyes follow him as they leave.

"Where are we--"

"Just here," Damen says, leaning up against the wall in the empty hallway. They're close enough that Laurent can still hear the gentle murmurings from the people inside, but far enough that he can't make out any distinct words. "Just away from all those people. Just for a moment."

"All right," Laurent says, following his lead and leaning up next to him. "Are you okay?"

"Jokaste and I were involved," Damen says, deliberately not answering the question, "maybe a year ago. It was just a fling. I broke it off when I learned that she was expecting a proposal at some point, and I knew I wasn't ready for that. And then my father got sick, and I didn't have any time to listen to the rumors about her."

"Rumors that she was with your brother?"

"Yes," Damen says, a bitter laugh pushing out of him. "Yes, those rumors. I didn't think that after everything...I don't know. You've been far better about seeing who my brother really is than I ever have; I suppose you would have seen this coming."

"It's not a bad thing to trust people," Laurent says, "especially people you love."

"And once you've learned they can't be trusted?" Damen asks him, glancing over. "Is it a bad thing to keep on trusting them then?"

Laurent doesn't have an answer for that. The instincts that have kept him alive all these years scream that yes, of _course_ it's a bad thing to keep trusting people who have shown they don't deserve it, and who keep hurting you. But a newer, gentler side of him wants to tell Damen no, it's not a bad thing, just like it's not a bad thing to want to have someone with you to pick up the pieces afterwards. To help you put yourself together again, stronger and more resilient than you were before. 

"You did well tonight," Laurent says, changing the subject. "I thought we'd surely be caught out as liars when she asked you how we met, but you covered admirably. You're getting better at lying," he says, trying for an easy tone to buoy Damen's spirits.

"Right," Damen says, and lets out a little laugh that doesn't sound like he's amused at all. "I guess I am." 

"Dinner is served," comes a loud voice from the room on the other side of the wall, and Damen sighs again. Laurent grabs his hand and squeezes it gently, and together they join the rest of the guests for dinner.

********

"Are you almost done?"

"This is an extremely uncomfortable position, will you just let me get used to it for a moment? Stop moving."

"How do you think I feel?"

"At this moment I honestly don't care. Your feet are firmly planted on terra firma and mine are not so I'm the one that gets to be uncomfortable."

"What do you see?"

"I told you, I can't see anything."

"You have to feel around for it."

"Thank you, Damen, for your inexorable wisdom. I don't think I could have figured that out on my own."

"Well it seemed like you needed some help, is all."

"I do have _some_ experience, you know."

"It doesn't seem like it right now."

"If I don't die doing this incredibly stupid thing--which I'll remind you was your idea, by the way--I am going to murder you once I get down."

"You're not giving me much incentive not to drop you."

"If I die, I'll come back as a ghost and haunt you forever."

"Okay, fair enough. I won't drop you, I promise."

Laurent feels his fingers brush up against something hard, and he grasps it firmly in his hands.

"I think I have something," he says, grabbing it and bringing it towards him. It's a small metal box, about the size of a cigar box, with a simple padlock keeping it shut. Laurent shakes it and hears rustling inside--papers, then. That was a good sign. Could just be money, but they'd find out in a minute.

"Okay...how am I supposed to get down?" He says, looking down at Damen.

Damen, whose shoulders Laurent is currently standing on, shrugs, and Laurent's arm shoots out to steady himself on the gigantic floor to ceiling bookcase next to him and he glowers down at Damen. 

"Sorry," Damen says sheepishly, looking up at him. "Hand me the box."

Slowly, slowly, Laurent reaches down and hands Damen the metal box. Damen weighs it in his hand for a moment before tossing it onto a nearby chair, where it lands with a dull thud. He looks back up at Laurent.

"Now what?" Laurent asks. "Are you going to toss me too?"

"All you have to do is take a step backwards," Damen says. "I'll catch you."

"It was so much easier going up," Laurent mutters.

"I've got you, I promise."

Not really having much other choice, Laurent gathers his strength and pushes off slightly from Damen's shoulders. Just when he thinks he's about to hit the ground Damen's arms encircle him tightly around his waist, slowing his fall, and for a moment he floats, suspended in the air, before Damen sets him gently down. Laurent's arms had come up instinctively to brace against Damen's shoulders and he doesn't move them now; Damen, likewise, still has his arms wrapped around him and for a second they stay like this, in close embrace. Damen's eyes are bright with the exhilaration of their heist and Laurent can't stand how gorgeous he looks right now. He pushes away and Damen releases him immediately.

"If your shoulders weren't so high off the ground that wouldn't have been such a daunting prospect," Laurent says, trying to find his balance on solid ground again.

"If they weren't so high you wouldn't have been able to reach the box," Damen points out. "And I did catch you."

Of course he did, with his giant muscled arms. Damen probably could have snapped him in half like a twig if he wanted. Laurent goes over to grab the box and it's only the work of seconds to get the padlock open. He hands it to Damen, who looks through the papers.

"Nothing," Damen says, after a moment. "They're all just old love letters from when Kastor was a teenager. Ha!" he says, grabbed one. "I knew it."

"Is it about the will?" Laurent asks.

"No," Damen says, looking a little embarrassed, "it's a love letter to Kyra, from when he was a teenager. He always said he wasn't interested in her, but I knew he was lying."

"Well if he has the letter in here it means he never sent it," Laurent says. "Unless he asked for it back, which seems a little strange."

"Oh. I suppose you're right. Well, there doesn't seem to be anything useful in here."

"How did you know this was up here?" Laurent asks him, setting the padlock back on the box.

"We used to summer here, sometimes," Damen says. "Kastor would always spend time in here but he was never known for being a voracious reader, so I followed him one day to see what he was doing. I saw him climb up the bookcases and mess with something on the top shelf, but I was never tall enough to try myself before we stopped coming here. I'd forgotten about it, honestly, until just this morning. I figured it was worth a try, especially since the safe already proved to be empty. I can't believe this thing was still up here."

"And so where did you hide your love letters?" Laurent asks, teasing. "Maybe we should try looking there next."

"You would hardly want to read them. They'd be full of all of the terrible longings only thirteen year old boys are capable of. If they existed. Which they definitely don't."

"I don't think you have any idea what kind of thing I'd like to read," Laurent says. "And judging by the amount of books you left in your old hotel room, you shouldn't give Kastor too hard of a time."

"I didn't leave those there," Damen says, going over and trying the drawers on the desk. None of them are locked and he rifles through them, finding only blank pieces of paper and pens and other detritus. "I brought them. For you."

Laurent stills. "For me?"

Damen shrugs, still pawing through the desk. "I saw how many books you had at your apartment, I figured either you or one of your brothers liked to read. So I brought over some books from my library so you'd have something to read, if you wanted."

"That's--" Laurent's not sure what to call this feeling that threatens to burst out of his chest. The fact that Damen had done that, had noticed them in the first place while he was bleeding all over their floor and then had taken the time to bring over his personal collection--it was too much. And it hadn't even been something he had done for Laurent specifically; he didn't even know that Laurent was the voracious reader in the family, and he had done it anyway.

"That was very sweet of you," he says finally. "Thank you."

Damen smiles, those dimples coming out in full force. "Don't thank me yet. We've still got to put that box back where we found it." He forms a step out of his hands as Laurent groans. "Alley oop!"

*******

Laurent sits in his room, getting ready to sleep. He and Damen had separate rooms, as they were only engaged and it would have hardly been appropriate for them to share. But this room was large, larger even than his new residence at the hotel. Having his own room had taken some getting used to, and he still didn't like sleeping alone. Thankfully Nicaise must have felt the same because even though he also had his own room for the first time he still always ended up crawling into Laurent's bed. Here, though, he would be alone. No one would come snuggle in with him here. He wonders if Nicaise is stealing into Auguste's bed tonight, and he sighs.

Laurent jumps on the giant queen sized bed and stretches out, wondering at all the space. He feels cold, without the warmth of other bodies next to him, and decides to dig underneath the covers to see if that helps.

It doesn't.

The room echoes strangely around him and he gets up, pacing. There's a giant fireplace at one end of the room, although it's not lit at the moment, but it's so big that he could climb inside without even hardly needing to duck. It seems excessive, although no more so than the decorations in the rest of the place. Two giant portraits, possibly of some ancient relative of Damen's, stare back at him with cold, dead eyes. There's strange noises outside--nothing like the nighttime sounds of St. Giles, where he knew what every creak and moan was. Out here there are stranger sounds, calls of animals he can't name and the various sounds that come from a mansion filled with fifty or so people, most of them servants who were still working at something or the other even at this late hour.

He climbs into bed again, and then immediately gets out. He knows he won't be able to sleep a wink, not in this cavernous room with all of the strange noises surrounding him and without familiar warm bodies next to him. He looks at the door, locked against any nighttime intruders, and lets himself imagine. Damen is across the hall, behind his own locked door, but Laurent knows exactly how insignificant that barrier is. No, the thing that separates them now is a different kind of barrier, one where all of the skills he had picked up throughout his rough and tumble life would be no help. 

He could go over there, to visit him, to see if he was also unable to go to sleep, but Laurent dismisses the thought. Damen spent his life going from townhouse to country house to god knows where; he would be able to sleep wherever. And these giant, cavernous rooms were normal to him, familiar. They wouldn't make him uncomfortable like they did Laurent. 

And he knows what Damen would think, stealing into his room in the middle of the night. It could really only signify one thing, but Laurent truly didn't want that, not here, not in this place--no, Laurent thinks, not _anywhere_ , don't think about it in those terms, this was a business relationship. One with a shaky foundation and the beginnings of friendship, perhaps, but nothing else. There couldn't be, not for someone like him. He needs to get back into bed, close his eyes and before he knew it, it would be morning. He looks over at the bed, rumpled and inviting and promisingly cozy.

And then he grabs his lock picks and closes his door quietly behind him, stealing out into the hallway and up to Damen's door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The scene I didn't write was Laurent and Damen getting kicked out of the gaming hell because Laurent was counting cards. 
> 
> The next chapter is called "While You Were Sleeping" and it's not nearly as naughty as it sounds.


	7. While You Were Sleeping

Damen is asleep when a scratching at his door wakes him instantly. Falling asleep almost anywhere was a habit he'd picked up from his years with the British forces but so was waking at the slightest noise, prepared to fight. But the sound of lock picks has almost become familiar to him, and he knows who's coming through the door even before he sees the golden head peek in.

"Laurent?" He asks, pushing himself up in bed. "Is everything okay?"

Laurent shuts the door behind him. He's wearing a pair of soft looking trousers and an oversized shirt that dwarfs his frame, with billowing shirtsleeves and laces up the front that are half undone. For a second Damen wonders if he's dreaming; it wouldn't be the first dream he had that started this way, although usually Laurent was wearing considerably less clothing. But there's something striking about the way Laurent looks right now, ethereal and beautiful in the faint moonlight that streams in from the picture window at the far side of the room, and Damen knows that his imagination isn't _that_ creative, and that he must be real.

"I couldn't sleep," Laurent says finally. "My room is...I'm not used to such places."

"Is there something wrong with it? We could get you another one--"

A faint huff of laughter stops him in his tracks. The energy Laurent brings with him tonight is chaotic and strange, and Damen instinctively knows he isn't here for some sort of midnight assignation. He wonders if he's really telling the truth about not being able to sleep, or if he just came over here so that he could have someone to talk to in the midst of this mood.

"No," he says, "I don't need another room. Mine's perfectly fine, I just...couldn't sleep. I don't know why I came over here; I should have known that your room would be even larger than mine, and more ridiculously appointed. No offense."

"Absolutely none taken," Damen says, settling back against the headboard. "You know this is Kastor's estate, and not mine? And even then, I don't think he's changed anything from when my mother redecorated it thirty years ago."

Laurent moves away from the door now, not even glancing at Damen sitting in bed. His avoidance is so intentional that Damen realizes he must be doing it on purpose, and he wonders again about the reason that Laurent came over here. He moves silently around the room, running his fingers along the walls and tracing the decorative moulding that gives the room such a fussy air. 

"You don't talk about her much," Laurent says, "your mother. I think this is the first time I've heard you mention her."

"She died when I was very young," Damen says, that familiar ache settling in his chest like it always does when he thinks about that missing figure in his life. "Before I even turned seven. Tuberculosis, they said. We even lived in Bath for a few years, hoping that it would help her get better, but..." Damen doesn't finish the sentence; he doesn't need to. He knows Laurent doesn't have his parents anymore either. It's a pain they both know well enough.

"I'm sorry," Laurent says softly. "I didn't mean to bring up painful memories."

"It's not painful," Damen says, "not in the way you think. I'm grateful I can remember her at all. I remember..." he trails off, and then looks over at Laurent, smiling. "Do you want to hear a story?"

"A story?" Laurent asks, stopping his tour around the room and coming over towards the bed. He leans against the bedpost, his eyes bright. Damen feels like he's successfully coaxed a wild animal to come to him, a mix of fear and pleasure that makes him tingly. "What kind of story?"

"Well, my mother used to tell Kastor and I stories about the great heroes of legend." Damen sifts through the blurry memories he has of his mother reading to the two of them, and he knows instantly which one he wants to share. "Her favorite story to tell us was about two brothers, Castor and Pollux."

Laurent sits down on the edge of the bed expectantly, and Damen has to shut his eyes so that he can concentrate on remembering all of the relevant details. Having Laurent in his bed is doing no wonders for his mental faculties.

"Castor and Pollux were half brothers," he starts, "who were also twins. My mother never explained how exactly that worked, but it's Greek mythology so I think we can assume there were some salacious details that she glossed over in order to spare the minds of two young children. Anyway, Castor had a mortal father, the King of Sparta, but Pollux was immortal, the son of Zeus. Despite this strange parentage the brothers loved each other, and they were renowned for their excellent horsemanship and fighting skills. They even sailed with Jason and the Argonauts and helped find the golden fleece. I don't remember the exact details of that one, but there was a lot of punching involved."

"Easy to see why you would like them," Laurent says, smiling. He brings his knees up to his chest and wraps his arms around them, casual in a way that Damen didn't know he wanted to see so badly, heartbreaking for all of its easy naturalness and grace. He shakes his head and concentrates on the story.

"The two brothers also had a relatively famous sister named Helen, you may have heard of her." Laurent gives him a withering stare and Damen smiles. "When she was a child she was kidnapped by Theseus, who famously killed the minotaur in Crete. Castor and Pollux rescued her and brought her home. Anyway, that's not what this story is about, that's just to give you a taste of how the brothers were devoted to their family and were also really great at being heroes. The story starts when both Castor and Pollux fall in love with two beautiful women. I can't remember their names, but the important part is that these two women were already engaged to the twins' cousins, who were also twins. This is going to get confusing."

"I think I'm following so far," Laurent says.

"Anyway, the two women fell in love with our heroes and they all escaped back to their home in Sparta, where they were wed and had many children. Many years later the cousins came to visit, because they're still, you know, family, but they still had it out for our heroes since they were still mad at them for stealing their intendeds all those years ago. They decide to go steal all of Castor and Pollux's cattle in revenge for stealing their women."

Laurent laughs. "I'm assuming they considered that a fair trade."

"More than fair," Damen says. "The problem arises when Castor and Pollux figure out what their cousins are going to do because they're both incredibly smart, and they decide to ambush them. Castor decides to wait in a tree to get the drop on them while Pollux waits a little ways away behind a large rock. However, unknown to them, one of their cousins can see in the dark, which means that he's easily able to pick out Castor waiting for them in the tree. With a strong arm he throws his spear, piercing Castor's side and mortally injuring him. The only thing Castor can think of in that moment is that he has to warn his brother, so he calls out that he's been hit and to run away. Pollux is enraged that his brother is dying and attacks his cousin, eventually killing him, but he's so angry and distraught that he doesn't see the other cousin come up behind him, ready to put a knife in his gut.

Right as his cousin is about to stab Pollux, Zeus strikes him down with a lightning bolt, saving his son. Pollux runs over to his brother, still dying, and calls out to his father to save him. Zeus says that Pollux can give up his immortality to save his brother, and that doing so would make the both of them mortal but Castor wouldn't die. Pollux agrees to this and the two brothers live a fulfilling life, full of punching and horse riding. And when they eventually die of old age they became the constellation Gemini, forever bound to each other in the stars." Damen thinks about it for a moment, and then adds, "Oh, and when the cousins left to go steal the cattle and then the twins left to go get the cousins they left Helen alone with Paris, who took her to Troy. So they were kind of responsible for the Trojan war, in a way. That wasn't really relevant to this story, but I always thought it was a neat little piece of information."

"You're not very good at ending your stories, are you?" Laurent says. 

"I don't think I'm good at stories in general, actually. My mother told it much better; she made all of the heroes sound so dashing and adventurous. I always thought that she wanted Kastor and I to be like those twins, utterly devoted to each other and willing to give up anything for the other. In reality the relationship between us couldn't have turned out farther from the truth."

"I don't know if that's true," Laurent says, unfolding his limbs and stretching out. "Not because of anything you've done, at least."

"You mean that at least I wasn't the one who lied to everyone and betrayed my brother in order to inherit a meaningless title?"

"I suppose, if you want to look at it that way."

"How else would you look at it?"

Laurent shrugs. "If Castor wasn't worthy of being saved it doesn't mean that what Pollux did was any less heroic. He would still be worthy of all the stories told about him because what he did was right and good despite whatever else happened. It doesn't matter that Kastor is an asshole, and yes that's Kastor with a K, not a C, because you're not an asshole. You're everything those stories say you should be, and it's only his fault that he can't live up to them too."

Damen reels from Laurent's words as if he'd been punched; he had spent so long agonizing over his brother and how their relationship had soured without him knowing that he had never really considered that perhaps, sometimes, it has to be enough to see to yourself. He watches as Laurent swings his legs off the side of the bed and with a pang realizes he's leaving.

"Stay," he says, reaching out for Laurent's wrist. He clasps him loosely, enough so he could get out if he wanted. "Not...not for that. Just for a little bit."

Laurent stares at him for a moment, and Damen prepares himself for a scathing retort, a reminder that this thing between them is only pretend, not real--something that's becoming harder and harder for Damen to internalize. But Laurent only stares at him for a moment before nodding once and climbing in next to him. Damen can hardly believe that this is actually happening, and then all he can think is: this is the first time Laurent has sought him out for nothing more than a friendly conversation, or perhaps just his company, and neither one of them had brought up the mission, or planning, or anything else like that.

"I'll stay till you get sleepy," Laurent says, nestling into a pillow that Damen frees up for him. "That's all."

"That's all I need," Damen replies, settling down in the blankets, and as he falls asleep for the second time that night, all he can think is that at least Laurent didn't call him out on the lie.

*******

Many hours later, when it's still so dark out that Damen can barely see his hand in front of his face, Damen wakes to find Laurent curled up against him, sleeping soundly. Knowing it's risky and deciding to do it anyway he reaches out to bring Laurent even closer and Laurent snuggles into him, throwing a sleepy arm across his chest in the unconscious way of the deeply dreaming. Damen remembers that night he had looked up at the stars, deep in the heart of some unknown country, and had thought they were the brightest and most beautiful thing he had ever seen. He knows, now, that for the rest of his life he'll never find anything that burns as brightly or as beautifully as the man sleeping next to him, and he drifts back off to a dreamless sleep.

*******

When Damen wakes again it's mid morning, and Laurent is gone. The bed next to him is cold; Laurent probably left some hours ago. It was a small wonder that Damen hadn't heard him leave. The servants had already come and prepared the room for his comfort--the fire was drawn up, the water in the wash basin was refilled, and Damen wonders if they had seen Laurent sleeping there with him. Not that it mattered to their mission here. They were supposedly engaged, after all, and when the servants inevitably gossiped about it it would only fuel their cover story.

That thought makes Damen's heart ache in the now familiar way it does whenever he thinks about how he and Laurent are lying to everyone about their relationship, and he forces himself to push all of those thoughts aside and prepares himself to go downstairs and join the rest of the household for breakfast. When he gets there Jokaste and Laurent are already seated, and Laurent gives Damen a cocky smile that's entirely unexpected and makes Damen want to take him right against the breakfast table, other guests be damned. 

"Any plans for today?" Jokaste asks as he sits down and a servant comes over to dole out some eggs. "We've got a small hunting party planned for this afternoon, if you'd like to join us."

"I was hoping we could do something a little less exciting," Laurent says, sending a coy glance towards Damen. "I'm afraid I didn't sleep too well last night, and I find myself a little tired today."

Damen doesn't miss the look Jokaste gives Laurent at that, and he sends Laurent a warning glance that he can't quite keep a smile out of. "Actually, I was hoping to go into town today and check on some of the tenants. I know that Mrs. Elosean was due to give birth a few months ago, and I wanted to see how she fared. And I wanted to see how progress on the new general store is coming along."

"Really Damen, you'd rather do that than come hunting with us? You have an excellent seat, it would be a shame to not have you there."

"I think town sounds fun," Laurent says, waving away another offering of eggs. "You wouldn't mind the company, would you darling?"

"Of course not," Damen says, a little thrown by the sobriquet. "The more the merrier."

"It's settled, then. And I think we'll both look forward to having fresh meat for dinner after your successful hunt, Lady Jokaste. You are hunting game, are you not?"

"We are," she says, picking up her knife to slice cleanly through her tomato. "I do so enjoy watching those drab little pheasants run around, thinking they have a chance against me. Just think, all of those little birdies out there right now, not knowing they have a bullet with their name on it just waiting in my gun."

"How positively ghoulish," Laurent drawls. "Personally I find a hunt to be rather boring if the prey don't fight back. There's nothing quite like being backed into a corner and having a pair of teeth come right at your throat." He brings an elegant hand up to his neck, drawing Damen's attention, and sets his fingers lightly against the graceful column of his throat. "Don't you agree, Damen?"

Damen realizes that he's staring. "Yes," he rasps out. He clears his throat. "Yes, I agree."

Laurent smiles tightly at Jokaste, who narrows her eyes at him. 

"Excuse me, please," she says, standing up. Damen and Laurent stand up as well. "I have to go and get ready to kill something. I'll see you gentlemen at dinner." 

And then she's gone, sweeping out of the room, and Laurent turns to Damen.

"Well?" He says, smirking. "Shall we?"

*************

"You court trouble, you know," Damen says, once they're on their way to town. It was only about a mile away and the morning was fresh and cool, and Damen had decided that getting some exercise in might help with the nerves that he suddenly found were threatening to engulf him.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean you baiting Jokaste," Damen says, even though he's certain Laurent knows exactly what he means. "I've seen her take down some powerful people, Laurent. She once made the Earl of Chesterfield cry at his own ball."

"What for?"

"What do you mean, what for? She does it because she thinks it's fun, and she enjoys having that kind of power over people."

"No, I know that. What did she have on the Earl of Chesterfield to make him cry?"

The question takes Damen aback for a second; he had never really thought about it before, had just assumed it was Jokaste going after blood. But it made sense that she would have had some information to use against him to put him in such a state, or perhaps even a deeper reason for wanting to get him in that state in the first place.

"I don't know," he finally admits. "I never asked."

Laurent shrugs. "It doesn't matter, I was just curious. I actually like Jokaste, for what it's worth."

"You do?"

"Yes. She and I are cut from the same cloth; like calls to like."

"You are _not_ the same," Damen says, a little heatedly. "Jokaste only thinks of herself, at the end of the day. Everything she does is done to benefit her and her alone, and if she can take someone down while she does it, all the better." 

"Do you honestly think she's trying to bring you down?" Laurent asks. 

"You think there aren't any other unmarried Dukes out there that could have been swayed by her charm? She chose to go after my brother for a reason."

"And that reason was to hurt you? Or because your brother is, and please forgive me for this, a inveterate drunkard, liar and a cheat who can be led around by the nose by any beautiful woman who is ambitious enough to put up with him?"

Damen is silent for a moment as he lets that information sink through him. "You know," he says finally, "I could have used some of this insight into the darker side of everyone's character a few years ago. It would have saved me a lot of heartache."

"Perhaps after this is all over I can become a consultant," Laurent says, his voice teasing. "Once you're made the rightful Duke you can have me meet your future wife and I can make sure she's not hiding any dark secrets underneath her sweet exterior. For a reasonable fee, of course."

Damen feels something sharp pierce through him at those words, and he stumbles a bit on the path. He had always known that Laurent's time as his fiancé would come to an end eventually, but having Laurent say it out loud made it real in a way he's not quite ready to deal with yet. He isn't prepared for how empty the thought makes him feel. He looks towards the town and sees the tip of the steeple on the church peeking over the edge of the hill they were cresting. 

"Come on," he says, grabbing Laurent's hand. "We're almost there."

********** 

They spend a few hours wandering around in town, popping into some of the shops and chatting with the overly attentive shop owners. Laurent even finds a book at the general store, and Damen happily buys it for him, making Laurent blush a delicious pink color that makes Damen want to see if he could trace the pattern of it with his lips.

He restrains himself, of course. But that restraint was growing thinner and thinner the more time he spent around Laurent.

Which is why it was a bad idea for him to suggest they take the long road home, but he can't quite help himself. He knows the area well and although he hasn't been here for a few years he had combed every inch of the property as a child and knows exactly where he is going. He and Laurent walk in silence through the forest, letting the sounds of birds and animals fill the afternoon air, until they stumble upon the area that Damen's looking for.

"Oh," Laurent says, when he sees it. Ahead of them in a small clearing is a folly--a small one, to be sure, but it fits into the landscape like it has existed here since the beginning of time. Damen had always imagined that it used to be a ancient stone tower before falling into ruin, used to help defend the English from the fierce Viking warriors that invaded her shores, despite the fact that this place served no defensive purpose, being in the middle of a forest and all, and was miles away from the sea. Kastor had laughed at him when he shared his theories, and told him that the place was hardly fifty years old and only made to look ancient, and Damen had stopped coming here after he learned that. Now, however, he can see the beauty in it even if it wasn't real, or wasn't ancient. It made him happy and he thought it might make Laurent happy, and that was all that really mattered.

The broken, crumbling walls are covered with ivy and the blank space in the middle where he imagines the armory would have been, if the walls had ever really stood here, is covered in wildflowers. Damen walks to the middle of the clearing and lays down, bringing his arms behind his head to use as a pillow.

"I used to come here as a child," Damen says as Laurent wanders over. He somehow doesn't expect Laurent to get down on the ground with him and so he's surprised when he does, lowering himself perpendicularly to Damen and resting his head against Damen's stomach.

"It looks like a castle out of a fairy tale," Laurent says, shading his eyes. Damen hums in agreement and closes his eyes against the brightness of the day. Laurent's weight on his stomach is making his entire body feel like it's vibrating.

"I really liked the town," Laurent says, when Damen doesn't respond. "My brothers and I...we always talk about moving out to the country, once we make our fortune and get out from under our obligations. It would be nice to live somewhere like that, I think."

"What kind of obligations?" Damen asks.

Laurent sighs dramatically. "Don't ruin this nice moment by asking those kind of questions, Damen."

"What kind of questions?" he asks, trying to sound innocent.

"You know," Laurent says, waving a hand in the air, "questions about the real world, and not this pretty fantasy I'm letting myself believe I live in right now."

"Pretty fantasy?" Damen repeats. "You mean pretending at being polite to a bunch of snobs and using your free time to break into their studies?" 

"Yes," Laurent says, as if he can't believe Damen bothered to ask such a stupid question. "This is a vacation, comparatively." 

"Compared to the Regent telling you where to go and what to steal?" 

"And now you've gone and brought his name into it," Laurent says, sitting up and rubbing at his eyes. "Are you _trying_ to ruin a perfectly good afternoon?" 

"Why is he called the Regent?" he asks, knowing that he's probably pushing Laurent past what he'll endure. But this has been weighing on his mind for a while now, and he's certain Laurent is not going to volunteer the information. For a moment he doesn't think that Laurent is going to answer at all, but when he finally lets out a big sigh Damen is startled to realize that he might actually get an explanation. 

"He styles himself as the Regent," Laurent says, voice twisted with disgust, "because he says that the King and Queen can rule over all of England but they'll never be able to rule over his little kingdom of St. Giles. So in that mouldy little corner of London he's the real power, regardless of who lives in Buckingham Palace. Why anyone would want to rule over that disgusting area is beyond me."

"Hasn't anyone ever tried to take him out?"

"Plenty of people have tried," Laurent says, wrapping his arms around his knees. "No one has succeeded. I think a lot of that has to do with all of those things that I steal from him."

"But you said you don't know what they are," Damen points out.

"I don't," Laurent says, "but I know what I'd do, if I were in his position. I'd get blackmail material on everyone of importance, and then use that to ensure that it's in everyone's best interest that I stay in power and don't let that information fall into the wrong hands. Given the kind of places he usually has me break into, I'd say it's a safe bet that's what he's doing."

"And so what does he have on you, then?" Damen asks. "Why do you keep working for him, instead of leaving?"

Laurent turns a hard gaze on him, and Damen instantly knows that he's gone too far. 

"I think it's time we head back," Laurent says, standing up and brushing the grass off of his pants. "I don't want to be late for dinner with your execrable brother and your former lover."

"All right," Damen says, pushing up. "I only asked because--"

"Because you can't help yourself, I know," Laurent says, already heading out of the small clearing. "You just have to be the knight in shining armor. Does it ever get tiring, playing the hero?"

Damen flinches as if he's been hit, but Laurent doesn't see it as he's already plunging through the forest on his way back to the estate. They're not far, and as Damen goes in to follow him he hears the low rumbling of thunder in the distance, and he picks up his pace.

*********

Dinner had been an awkward affair.

The rain that came shortly after their return to the estate had also interrupted the hunting party and so everyone was trapped inside for the rest of the evening with very little to do. Laurent had been distant throughout, only speaking long enough to throw pointed barbs back at Jokaste whenever she tried to rile him up. She seemed pleased by the end of the night, which meant that things had probably gone badly for Laurent. Damen, for his part, hadn't been able to get him alone all evening and by the time they had all retired for the night Laurent had already locked himself in his bedroom.

And so it's with no small amount of relief that he hears the sound of his door opening around midnight, barely audible over the sound of the rain outside. He had left the door open in hopes that Laurent would come to him again, but he wasn't holding his breath. Although he hadn't managed to fall asleep either, so maybe he was allowing himself to hope more than he realized.

Without waiting for an invitation this time Laurent comes straight over to what Damen belatedly realizes he already considers Laurent's side of the bed and he climbs in, burrowing under the covers like a kitten seeking warmth. They're silent for a moment, the only sound in the room the pattering of rain and Laurent's uneven breathing.

"I'm sorry," Damen whispers, afraid that anything he says might chase Laurent away but unable to stop himself from trying to fix whatever was broken between them. "I shouldn't have pushed you--"

"Would you like for me to tell you a story?" Laurent interrupts.

"Yes," Damen says, helpless to say anything else.

Laurent is silent for long enough that Damen's afraid he's changed his mind, but eventually he takes a deep breath and starts talking. 

"Once upon a time, there was a king and queen who loved each other very much. After trying for many years the queen finally gave birth to a baby boy, a prince, who was as beautiful and as loved as any child could be. And he was given anything he wanted--toys, sweets, books, kittens, puppies, anything, but it didn't make him spoiled, it only made him more kind and gentle and he shared his good fortune with anyone who ever asked. Because the only thing he really wanted, more than anything in the world, was a baby brother. The prince thought that he was never going to get his wish until one day, shortly after his seventh birthday, the queen announced that he would be getting what he wished for. The prince was the happiest he had ever been.

When his younger brother was born the older prince completely doted on him, even though he was just a baby and couldn't do much of anything interesting, and he promised his brother that no matter what happened he would always protect him. And for a while, the family lived together as happy as anyone had any right to be, and the four of them loved each other very much.

Then, one night when the youngest prince was around three years old, their castle caught on fire. It swept through all the rooms quickly and consumed everything; the youngest prince would have surely perished if not for the promise that the elder prince made to always protect him. He risked his life to save him, and by the time he was able to carry the crying child to safety the castle was engulfed, and the king and queen along with it."

Laurent stops, and lets out a shaky breath. Damen wants to offer him some condolences, some measure of affection, but he's afraid that if he moves Laurent will change his mind and not finish the story, and so he waits until Laurent's breathing comes easier, and he starts again.

"The two princes, now ten and three, were orphans. They had one living relative, their father's brother, who they had never met. When they were sent to live with him they found out why--he was an evil sorcerer who was as mean and cold hearted as their father had been good and honest. Their uncle put them to work in his castle, along with dozens of other orphans that he had taken under his wing, all under the guise of being a benevolent ruler. He forced them to learn how to pick...I mean, how to do magic, which was illegal, and told them that if they didn't do as he said he would sell them to the highest bidder, who would no doubt do even more terrible things to them.

And so the two princes lived there, looking out for each other as best as they were able and looking out for the younger kids whenever they could. The ones who couldn't or wouldn't learn magic were sold off, just like their uncle had said. The older brother spent all of his free time and most of his extra money teaching his younger brother everything he knew, math, writing, history, everything, even though sometimes the younger brother didn't appreciate it and could be a pain. Eventually the older prince earned enough money from his magic that he was allowed to move out of the orphanage, and he took his younger brother with him. He still always protected him, no matter the cost to him or anyone else. And together the two of them eked out a tiny living, still enslaved to the evil sorcerer, but as happy as they could be considering the circumstances because they had each other, and that was all they had ever really needed."

"And the third prince?" Damen asks softly. "What about him?"

Damen can just make out Laurent's smile in the dark, the first real one since he started telling the story. "Of course. The third prince just appeared one day at the orphanage, like most of them did, and he was full of fire and fury. He was just a tiny little thing but unlike all of the others he was dead set on being the best magic user in the entire world, so he naturally went and sought out the best to teach him--which happened to be the young prince, henceforward known as the middle prince. He stuck to that middle prince like glue for two years until he was the best magic user anyone had ever seen, and by then the two older princes had basically adopted him. And he's never left their side since, and he's still full of fire and fury but now he uses it to protect his new family, as much as they sometimes don't need it. Or think they don't."

"And...the evil sorcerer? He eventually gets defeated, right?"

"Maybe," Laurent says, "one day." He pauses for a moment, and Damen can hear him take a deep breath. "I'm not very good with endings either."

"Laurent--"

"I'm sorry too," Laurent says , his voice so soft Damen can barely hear it. "I shouldn't have...you were only trying to help, I know." 

"Is wanting to help bad?"

"Not bad. Just...unexpected. And a new enough feeling that I'm not sure how to deal with it."

"Laurent, you know I'd do anything --" 

"No, Damen. Not right now. Is it okay if I stay here while you fall asleep again?"

"Of course," Damen says. _Please_ , he doesn't say. _Always_. _Stay with me every night._

That night Damen dreams of princes and dragons and knights in shining armor, and even in his dreams he can't ever seem to save the golden prince.

******

It's been almost a week since Kastor's party ended and everyone returned to their own homes, and Damen still has trouble sleeping without Laurent by his side. He was surprised at how quickly he had gotten used to it, to Laurent's warmth curled up against him all night, their conversations before falling asleep, and he misses it with an ache that he can't fully reconcile. Even though it was only eight o'clock in the evening he's already mentally preparing himself for another sleepless night when he hears a light knock on his door. He answers, and Jeeves pokes his head in.

"Master Damen, Master Laurent is waiting for you in the drawing room. He said he had to talk to you urgently."

Glad that he hadn't already changed into his bed clothes, Damen rushes downstairs. Laurent had called on him once since they'd been back, and Damen had visited him as well, but never at this late hour. This would get the gossips talking for sure, but Damen finds that he doesn't particularly care.

"Laurent?"

"Hello, Damen," he says, not turning from his examination of one of the marble busts in the room. He's dressed up for going out but tonight he's carrying a tension with him that Damen hasn't seen since their first encounter at the cafe.

"Is everything okay?"

Laurent takes a deep breath before continuing. "I think we should go visit Ancel," he says, finally meeting Damen's eyes and piercing him to the ground with his steely blue gaze. "I think we should go visit the Black Orchid."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Listen yes I have a problem with these two talking out their trauma in bed together in a non sexual way, okay? I don't know what's wrong with me.
> 
> My google searches for this chapter:  
> Victorian bed clothes  
> Victorian bed clothes men  
> Victorian bed clothes men sexy  
> mr darcy pride and prejudice ending <\---yeah fuck it lets go with that


	8. People Will Say We're in Love

"Here," Laurent says, once they're both seated in the carriage. "I received this earlier today." He hands the letter over to Damen, a simple missive penned on paper that smelled cloyingly of perfume. 

_Darling,_

_I did so enjoy getting to see you last week. I am wounded beyond all measure that you haven't come to visit me yet. If it hastens your arrival at all, I will give you this piece of information for free. I do this because we were once great friends, if you remember--I know I can't forget. The man your fiancé's brother met with works for the Regent._

_I hope that is enticing enough for you and your handsome pet to pay me a visit. If not, don't fear. I will keep trying._

_Always yours,_

_Ancel Berenger_

"Is that significant?" Damen asks, once he's scanned the letter. "That the man works for your uncle?"

"Significant in the fact that it means Kastor colluded with someone outside of the law, yes," Laurent answers. "My uncle has no one working for him who is not a thief, a cheat or a scoundrel. Preferably, for him, all three. It would be extremely useful to know exactly what kind of man he met with, though." Also significant, which Laurent doesn't call attention to, is the fact that Ancel had referred to Damen as his pet. In any other context he might take that as a playful jibe, but Laurent can only assume that coming from Ancel it means something else entirely. 

"And...you're okay with visiting him, at his place of work," Damen says carefully. "You seemed very much against it when we were at the gaming hell."

Laurent can feel himself flush and wills himself to not fidget. His objections at the hell hadn't been because it was something he was uninterested in--very much the opposite, in fact. But he doesn’t need to tell Damen that, not right now.

"Ancel is a scoundrel," he says, when he has gotten himself under control, "and very likely an incubus of some sort, but I know him well enough to know that he won't force anyone to do anything they find distasteful. If you are uncomfortable, I'm reasonably confident I can get him to just allow me--"

"No," Damen says quickly. "I'm not uncomfortable. And I won't let you do this alone." 

It only takes them a few minutes to pull up to the address that Ancel had given, and when they step out Laurent wonders if Ancel is playing some elaborate prank on him. They’re in front of an abandoned warehouse on a street full of other abandoned warehouses, and there’s no trace of any other people here, let alone an exclusive club. Laurent looks over at Damen who shrugs, and they approach the door. There’s a small eye slit built in, and when Laurent knocks they hear the grating of metal on metal as someone immediately slides it open.

"Who you here for?" The man on the other side of the door barks.

"Ancel," Laurent replies, sounding more confident than he feels.

"Names?"

"We'll give them to Ancel,” Laurent says, letting a hint of annoyance creep into his tone. He half expects the man to challenge him on this answer but the man just grunts and slides the slit closed. A second later the sound of locks being undone reverberates through the door and then it's opening only enough for the two of them to slip through and no more. As soon as the door slams behind them, Laurent stops.

The inside of the warehouse is as different from the outside as night and day. Plush velvet lines every inch of the walls, while tiny sparkling lights scattered throughout give the place a small, intimate feel. Benches and chairs litter the small hallway they're in, some deep and comfortable looking and some that look like torture devices. There's also a startling number of plants here, ferns and ivy and every other sort of greenery and Laurent wonders a little hysterically how this place ever gets enough sunlight not to kill all of them off. There are no windows, and the only sound he can hear is the gentle murmuring of voices and a fountain, somewhere, tinkling prettily.

"Laurent!" Comes a cry to his left, and Laurent turns to see Ancel walking towards him, arms outstretched. Laurent allows him a small, fraught hug, and Ancel squeezes him tightly.

"I didn't really think you'd come," he says, sliding his arm into Laurent's and walking them down the hall. "Follow," he tells Damen shortly, and to Laurent's surprise he does, without any complaint. When Laurent looks over at Ancel he's smiling wickedly. "Oooh, we're going to have so much fun tonight. But first, we have to take care of the basics. Damianos, Verna here will show you to your room. Laurent, I'll take you to yours. Don't worry, darling," he soothes, when Laurent starts to protest, "it won't take but a few minutes. It's for safety reasons, okay?"

"It's okay," Damen says, nodding at Laurent. "I'll see you on the other side, Laurent."

"Fine," Laurent says, allowing Ancel to pull him into the room. Surprisingly it's just an austere little place, with a wash basin in one corner and a small dressing area in the other. Ancel gestures towards the wash basin, but Laurent shakes his head.

"I bathed before I came here," Laurent says. "I'm not totally ignorant of what you want us to do here tonight, Ancel. I know you better than that."

"I'd say I'm offended, except you're mostly right," Ancel says, sitting down on the bench. "Take off your coat, I want to see how you look."

Laurent does, hanging it up carefully on a hook next to the dressing area. Ancel comes over and removes his cravat, leaving him in just a plain white shirt and a dark vest. He frowns at him, and then takes off the vest. Laurent sighs, and Ancel sends him a pained look.

"There, that's all. You look dashing, my dear, exactly how I pictured you would look. Now, listen. We have a few rules here at the Black Orchid, and even though I know you're not here to play, not really, we still have to cover them, okay?"

"Okay," says Laurent cautiously, already feeling a little uncomfortable dressed in only his shirt and pants, knowing that feeling will probably only intensify as the night goes on. "I didn't figure someone like you would run such a tight ship."

"You might have been right," Ancel says, turning a bit serious, "back when we ran together. Since then I've learned a few hard rules about what I will and will not tolerate, and now that I have my own club I can make sure those rules are followed. No one who works for me is going to go through what I went through after the Regent sold me to that terrible brothel."

Laurent turns away, able to meet his eyes.

"I'm sorry, Ancel. " He wants to do more, to apologize for his uncle, to try and make right what his uncle did wrong, but he knows nothing can make it better. And he knows that Ancel knows that too.

"There's nothing to apologize for," he says lightly. "I agreed to it in the end, after all. I would have done anything to get out of the Regent's clutches, although if I knew that learning how to crack safes could nab me a drop dead gorgeous peer of the realm I might have changed my mind."

"Ancel--"

"Stop, Laurent. I was just teasing. Okay. First off, we'll need a safe word. You can pick anything you like, but if you say it once we get started we're done, you understand? I don't play around with this sort of thing, so be careful."

"All right," Laurent says, a little taken aback with how serious Ancel sounds. He thinks about it for a moment. "How about 'Shakespeare'."

Ancel snorts. "You always were precocious. Okay, just to be clear, if you use that word you're done for the night. If you use it someone will escort you back to this room where you'll be allowed to dress, and then you can leave."

"And what exactly will you have us doing, that we'll need a safe word? You still haven't told me exactly what you want us to do here."

"Oh, what I want and what I expect will happen tonight are two very different things," Ancel purrs. "But basically what I need from the two of you tonight is just to wander around and be seen by the other customers."

Laurent waits for him to finish that sentence, but he doesn't.

"And?" Laurent asks.

"And nothing, darling. As much as I would enjoy watching the two of you fuck in my club I'm not going to ask that of you. No, unfortunately I have more mercenary concerns tonight. Having someone like Lord Damianos being seen in my club will do wonders for our reputation, even more so if his gorgeous fiance is with him."

"But his brother has already--"

"His brother is trash, and everyone knows it," Ancel says, annoyed. "I almost didn't even let him in, to be honest. But I have to start somewhere, darling, and right now I'm not in a position to turn down anyone from the Akielos family, as abhorrent as some of them might be. Lord Damianos is a respectable man, and once word gets around to certain circles that he came here I'll be able to be as exclusive as I want. I'll have so many people beating down my door to get in that I'll be able to hand pick my customers."

"So all we need to do tonight is trash Damen's reputation, then. Well I feel a lot better about this whole situation now."

"You're so prudish, Laurent. His reputation will be fine; everyone expects men of his station to go to places like this. The fucking Prince of England goes to sex clubs, darling. Damianos will be in good company. All he's doing is spreading some of that good cheer around to us poorer folk."

"Okay. Let's assume you just want us to walk around and mingle for what, an hour? Why the safe word, then?"

"Because those are the rules," Ancel says, his voice hard. "Damianos will get the same speech you are getting; everyone who is already in the building has gotten this speech as well. Everyone has a safe word and that above all else will be respected here. Do we understand each other?"

"Yes," Laurent says, concealing his surprise. "We understand each other."

"Good. Now. I'm going to go talk to Lord Damianos and let him know the plan. Then I'm going to send him over to get you, and you can thank me for that later. I know you're here for the information I can give you about Kastor, and don't worry, you'll get it. I always keep my word." 

Ancel walks over and gestures for him to hold out his hand, which Laurent does. He drops a long gold chain in his palm and then closes Laurent's fingers over it. 

"You'll need this in a few minutes, you'll know what to do with it. Oh, sweetheart," he says, running a hand through Laurent's hair, "this is going to be delightful. You have no idea."

*******

It only takes a few minutes before Laurent hears a knock on the door, and when Damen enters the room Laurent is suddenly aware of two things in very short order.

One: He owes Ancel an apology.

Two: He wants right now, more than anything he's ever wanted in his life, to pin Damen to the wall and kiss him senseless until both of them can't breathe anymore.

Damen is wearing something that can only in the loosest description be called clothes, and can more accurately be called a few strips of cloth. His entire well muscled chest is out on display, along with his arms, thighs, and pretty much every other part of him except for those few essential areas that the cloth is covering. Delicate gold chains connect the two pieces of cloth, preventing it from falling off entirely, and the gold sparkles wonderfully against his dark skin. The only other thing he's wearing is a golden collar clasped around his neck.

"Well," Laurent says, trying desperately to find solid ground again, "I guess I can't say that Ancel never did anything for me."

"I thought you were going to be in costume too," Damen says, pouting. If he's concerned with his own costume Laurent can't tell, and he leans up against the doorway casually as if he's not currently wearing what basically amounts to a washcloth. "This hardly seems fair."

Laurent feels the weight of the gold chain in his hand and knows what he's supposed to do with it, now; he pushes up from the bench, walking towards Damen and enjoying the way his eyes go wide in anticipation as he approaches.

"No," he says, clipping the gold chain to Damen's collar and looping the other end around his hand, "it's not fair at all."

*******

Exiting the staging area they're now free to roam the rest of the mansion, which is as beautifully decorated and expensively outfitted as the first area. Laurent makes his way through the crowd with Damen trailing behind him and attracting quite a few interested glances. Most of the crowd is dressed in a diverse set of costumes, some elegant, some barely there, like Damen's, with a few people, somehow, wearing even less. There aren't as many people fucking here as Laurent expected; mostly people keep that activity to the small alcoves scattered throughout the rooms which seem to be made to give a modicum of privacy. One room is different--there's a stage at one end with some performers who Laurent would guess are professionals of some sort due to the complicated aerobics they're doing, and a mostly quiet audience of about fifteen people watch with rapt attention.

They make a few lazy circles through the rooms, Laurent dragging Damen behind him and letting everyone have their fill of them. Laurent can't help but feel a little like a preforming monkey, and he guesses that it must be even worse for Damen. With a slight tug of the leash Laurent leads him towards one of the emptier parts of the club he had seen, a small reclining couch that was screened off from prying eyes by a few large ferns. The sound of rushing water is louder here, affording some privacy for conversation.

"Are you alright?" Damen asks as Laurent sits down on the couch. Damen very carefully arranges his costume before sitting down, making sure nothing is exposed.

"Am _I_ alright?" Laurent asks. "I should be asking you that. I at least have some semblance of clothes on."

"And you're not wearing a collar."

"And there's that, too," Laurent says, wondering at Damen. "How are you okay with this?"

Damen shrugs. "I'm not fussy about nudity. And we're doing this for a good cause, right? We're helping out your friend and we're getting to find out some more information about my brother. We're both getting something out of this."

"Aren't you worried? About your reputation?"

"Not really," he says, leaning back slightly. Laurent has to force himself not to look at the way that movement pulls at the muscles in his abdomen. "I don't know if you've noticed but I don't really have a lot of close friends in the _ton_ , and I regard their opinion about as much as you do."

"And what about after?" Laurent asks. "Once we find this will and you become the rightful Duke again. Will you care then?"

"It only means I can care less," Damen says. "It's privileged, I know, and sometimes I hate that it gets to be that easy for me. But all it means is that everyone will want something from me and when they do, it means they tend to look the other way on certain habits they find...distasteful." He waves a hand around the room they're in. "Like coming here."

"Or like dumping your fiancé after you get your title back," Laurent says. He was trying to go for a teasing tone, but the statement comes out a little more harried than he likes, and he doesn't miss the flash of pain that flits across Damen's face.

"There will be enough people trying to capitalize on your bad luck that they won't even notice," Damen says, bitter in a way that Laurent's not used to hearing from him. "Actually, Laurent, I've been thinking about--"

"Hello, darlings," Ancel says, coming over to their little nook and giving Damen a glance that makes Laurent inadvertently tighten his hold on the leash "How are we finding ourselves tonight?"

"Interrupted," says Damen shortly. Laurent lets out a little huff and Ancel rolls his eyes, coming to sit next to Laurent.

"It hardly looked like I was interrupting anything, my dear. I would have figured by now you would have gotten Laurent wearing as much or less than you are."

"I thought you said you didn't need us to do anything salacious," Laurent says as Ancel drapes himself across his shoulders.

"I don't need you to, no," Ancel says, "but have you _seen_ what your fiancé looks like, darling? If I wasn't a married man..." he trails off suggestively.

"You'd what? Fuck him right in front of me?" Laurent asks, annoyed. "Don't stop on my account, Ancel. I promise you my ears can take it."

Ancel peers over at Laurent through heavy lidded lashes, and Laurent returns the look levelly.

"Have you heard how Laurent and I met, Damianos?" Ancel asks, slowly turning his attention away from Laurent. 

"No," Damen says carefully, catching Laurent's eye. Laurent shrugs, not knowing where Ancel was going with this. They had met when Laurent was young, under ten, if he remembers correctly, and back then he had always been so concerned about survival and about Auguste that he barely had enough mental process to think about anything else. He wonders briefly why Ancel would bring this up now, of all places.

"My father got thrown in jail for gambling debts when I was eight," he say , nestling in behind Laurent. "My mum didn't have enough money with him gone to keep herself in gin and so she sold me to the Regent for two pounds, on account of my unusual hair color," he says, shaking out his long locks against Laurent's neck. "Most kids were only worth one, and even then only if there was something unusual about them that the Regent thought he could exploit. Anyway, if you think I'm annoying now just imagine me as a cheeky eight year old with no actual skills to speak of and a tongue that could flense the skin off an elephant. To put it shortly I was insufferable, and the rabble I lived with in that disgusting place the Regent called an orphanage didn't take kindly to me. Including our boy here."

"If it helps any, I didn't take kindly to anyone," Laurent points out, shifting uncomfortably. Damen knew a little of his life growing up, but for some reason he felt more exposed with the information coming from someone else.

"That's true," Ancel agrees, "you hated everyone except Auguste, who you doted on. Anyway. One day I found myself in a bad place. I wasn't paying close enough attention to who was coming in and out of the room I was in, and I found myself alone with about five or six of the rougher, older kids. You know the kind I mean." 

Laurent wonders if Damen does, exactly, but he doesn't interrupt. By now he knows where this is going.

"I was in a bad spot, to put it lightly. I figured if I just stayed still and didn't fight it would be over quickly enough, and then I turned and I saw Laurent walk into the room. The other boys didn't see him; he was always a quiet kid. And he knew what was about to happen. It probably wasn't the first time he had seen something like that. He could have just walked away and left me there, and everything would have been fine. For him."

"Ancel--"

"Shhh," Ancel says, reaching out to Damen. "Give me your hand, Damianos."

Damen does, hesitantly, and Ancel brings it over and puts it just below Laurent's ribs, causing him to flinch, just a little. Damen looks over at Laurent, partly confused, partly seeking consent to touch him, and Laurent nods that he's okay. 

"He didn't leave," Ancel says, holding Damen's hand against him. "He came over and asked those boys what they thought they were doing in that cool voice of his, and when they told him, he told them to get the fuck out." Ancel laughs softly. "They didn't, of course. They beat the hell out of him, out of both of us, and one of them had a knife, put it right into Laurent's side, right here," he says, pushing Damen's hand down. Laurent can feel the warmth of his hand through the fine linen of his shirt; it almost feels like there's no fabric there at all. He remembers that knife wound--there had been a lot, throughout the years, but that one was deeper than most--and how at the time he had been certain that he was going to die.

"There was a lot of blood, which freaked everyone out, and the boys left. After that, Laurent always kept an eye out for me. He even tried to teach me how to be a better pick pocket, although I could never quite master it like he did. We did manage to have a pretty good racket going for a while, though," Ancel says, resting his chin on Laurent's shoulder. "I would distract the marks, since spoiling for attention was my specialty, and he would slip into their pockets and take them for all they were worth. It didn't help that as he got older he became more and more eye catching, but what are you going to do?" 

"Why are you telling us this?" Laurent asks. Damen still hasn't moved his hand, even though Ancel isn't holding him in place anymore. 

Ancel shrugs, and untangles himself from Laurent. Laurent feels the absence of warmth against his back and for a second he misses it, almost asks for Ancel to come back, but he stops himself before he can do something so foolish. 

"I just want your Lord Damianos to see exactly what kind of man he's marrying," Ancel says, leaning over towards Damen. "Just in case he has any illusions about what kind of person you really are."

"I can take care of myself," Laurent says, out of habit. He had no idea that Ancel had thought so highly of him, that he had made that big of an impact in Ancel's life.

"I know you can, darling. But you shouldn't always have to. Damianos," he says, throwing an arm across Damen's shoulders, "you will promise that you'll treat your fiancé with all the goodness he deserves, won't you?"

"Damen, you don't--"

"I promise," Damen says, interrupting him. "As long as he lets me, I'll give him everything he deserves. Everything I have." Laurent feels the rush of blood thrumming through him; Damen had answered Ancel seriously, for all that Ancel might have just been playing with him. 

"Well that's no fun," Ancel says. "Our Laurent might not let you, sometimes. Sometimes you might have to force the issue, if you know what I mean. That's what safe words are for, darling."

"I don't think that's what they're for," Laurent says, his chest tight.

"Well, how would I know, anyway," Ancel says lightly, waving a hand. "I'll leave you two to it. Oh, and don't worry about the information on Kastor. I already sent everything I have to your residence, Laurent. Just enjoy yourselves tonight, darlings." 

And he sweeps out of the room, leaving the two of them alone. Damen seems to suddenly be aware of the fact that his hand is still pressed against Laurent's side, and he removes it, looking slightly embarrassed.

"Can we trust him?" Damen asks after a moment. A million different responses occur to Laurent in that moment, ranging from a simple 'no' to asking how Damen could ever even think about trusting anyone who grew up with him, who lived like he did, but he finds he doesn't have the strength to dance around the issue, not tonight. 

"Yes," he says instead, a simple response to a complicated question. His brain feels like it's moving a thousand miles an hour. "You didn't have to promise that to him, you know." 

"I know," Damen says. "I didn't do it for him."

"Then why?" 

"I think you know why," Damen says quietly. He's even easier to read when he's bared like this. Laurent can see every muscle twitch, every flicker, every repressed movement. Damen's voice is low and deep, deeper than normal, and Laurent fights off a shiver. He wonders what it would be like to have Damen use that voice to whisper disgusting things into his ear.

"And was he right?" Damen asks, when Laurent doesn't respond. 

"About?" 

"About you needing to be forced, sometimes."

A low heat pools in Laurent's stomach. The tension between them is crackling with potential right now, ready for the slightest spark to ignite it.

"What do you think?" he asks.

"I think you do. Sometimes." 

"But not right now?" 

"No. Not right now. Not with you holding that leash. Not with me here, like this." 

"Like what, exactly?" Laurent asks, tugging gently on the leash. He watches as Damen plays at resisting the force of it until he finally falls forward, catching himself before all of his weight is on Laurent. His arms are braced on either side of him, and he's close enough that Laurent can smell the clean scent of his soap. Their faces are just inches from each other. "You mean, like you're my pet?" 

"It certainly seems that way," he murmurs. "What would you have me do, if that were the case?"

That was probably a question Laurent shouldn't already know the answer to. Whatever was happening here between the two of them needs to stop; Laurent has a feeling that tonight there will be no interruptions. No servants breaking them apart, no interlopers keeping Damen from saying something ridiculously sweet. He needs to put a stop to this right now, because he already knows that there is no way he will be able to stop it later.

He finds, in the end, that he doesn't really care.

"Kiss me," he says, letting up on the leash. He wants Damen to come to him of his own volition, without force; he wants to be able to look back on this, when everything is all over and they're only strangers to each other once again, and know that Damen wanted it as badly as he did.

And then Damen leans down so, so slowly and plants the softest, gentlest kiss on Laurent's lips. He doesn't even open his mouth; he's kissing Laurent with his lips closed and he's not pushing for it to go any deeper, and he's still holding himself off of Laurent's body. Laurent wants him on top of him, crushing him, using all of his considerable bulk to pin him to the ground, but Damen is being easy and light and treating him like he's about to break. He pulls away after a moment and gently strokes Laurent's cheek, smiling softly at him.

"Is that it?" Laurent asks, more dazed by that soft attention than he would have thought.

Damen huffs and drops his head. "I've been dreaming about doing that for so long, I couldn't waste the opportunity."

"Really?" Laurent says, pleased. "And how did you find it?"

"Perfect," Damen says, moving down to place his lips against Laurent's neck and nuzzling there. "You're perfect," he whispers, and Laurent shivers.

"Please tell me that your dreams included more than just chaste little kisses."

"Oh, they have. I've also dreamed about the first time you kissed me, and how rough you were with me," Damen says, nipping at his earlobe. "I even thought about ways I could get you angry enough to do it again."

"Monster," Laurent gasps, as Damen finds that sensitive spot behind his ear and sucks on the skin there. "You don't have to get me angry, you just have to ask."

"I wasn't sure you'd want to," Damen admits, pulling back and looking at Laurent. "It's fragile, this thing we have, and I didn't want to be the one who ruined it by pushing you to do something you felt uncomfortable doing."

"Do I seem uncomfortable to you?"

"You do find reasons to keep talking, right now. Maybe it's because--"

"Sit back," Laurent says, his voice hard. Damen freezes for a second but then complies, moving over to the other side of the couch almost instantly. His cheeks are flushed and the skimpy little slave's garb he's wearing isn't doing much to hide how excited their brief make out session had made him. Laurent can't believe how perfect he is, how beautiful, and without letting go of the leash he moves across the couch so that he's straddling Damen's lap. Damen groans as Laurent settles down on him and Laurent reaches forward to catch the sound. This time Laurent doesn't hold back and he kisses Damen like he's wanted to since that first time, rough and hard and Damen's arms are around him now, holding him close and squeezing him just a little too tightly to be comfortable. Damen opens up for him and Laurent licks inside his mouth, exploring him like that for a moment before he remembers that there are other things that he's been waiting to do, things that he's been thinking about for more than a while now. Shifting his weight a little in a way that makes Damen's eyes roll back in his head he leans back and licks across one of the scars on Damen's chest. The scar is smooth under Laurent's tongue. He tastes like salt and sunshine.

"Would you like to complain about my mouth again?" Laurent murmurs against his skin.

"No, it's good...I like it...I like...your mouth..." Damen trails off, and Laurent can't help but laugh. Damen seems to be having trouble putting sentences together, but Laurent wants to see him even further gone. He runs his hands over Damen's chest, tweaking a nipple as he goes, and he can feel Damen twitch underneath him. He lets his hands roam lower and lower until there can be no question about where he's moving to next.

"Laurent, you don't..." Damen starts.

"Do you not want me to?" Laurent asks, hand stilling. He wants more than anything to take Damen in his hand right now, feel that exquisite hardness under his palm, wants to watch the way he can drive Damen crazy; he already knows how he'd do it, if he had the chance. But if Damen doesn't want it then none of that would matter.

" _God_ no, I want you to," Damen strangles out. "I just don't...you don't have to do anything you don't want."

"You idiot," Laurent says, unable to sound anything but fond. How could Damen not know that he wanted this, that he's been thinking about this since that first kiss in that locked room--or maybe even before that--but then he's not quite ready to admit to that yet. He's always been very good at keeping his thoughts to himself and right now that's looking like that was perhaps an oversight. He reaches beneath the flimsy cloth to wrap his hand around Damen's cock, his slender fingers fitting around it like they were made for it. Damen bucks at the touch even before Laurent puts any pressure on him, and when he does finally tighten his grip Damen groans loudly, a sound that shoots straight towards Laurent's core.

"Sensitive, aren't you," Laurent murmurs into his ear.

"Not normally, not like this," Damen pants. "You're driving me crazy, Laurent."

Laurent grips him a little harder and Damen curls around his touch, chasing the sensation. "It seems like your chest isn't the only thing about you that should be illegal. How did you manage to hide this behind that flimsy piece of cloth?"

" _Fuck_ , Laurent, I need...I want you to..."

"I will. Tell me what you like, Damen."

"Anything," he strangles out. "Anything as long as it's you."

Laurent's glad that most of his concentration is elsewhere, otherwise he might allow himself to read a little too much into what Damen means by that. But he's got more important things to worry about right now. He's certain that he could take Damen apart with his bare hands, piece by piece, have Damen begging and pleading and cursing his name by the end of it, and part of him wants to do just that, wants to watch him fall apart and then put him back together again, but they'll have time for that later. He already knows there will be a later; there was a time for ignoring whatever was happening between them, and that time had passed. It would be asinine to not admit that now.

And Damen is _gorgeous_ , underneath his ministrations--his head alternatively thrown back in pleasure and then reaching forward to claim Laurent's mouth, and his ridiculous, stupid chest with its constellation of scars that Laurent wants to trace with his tongue, if he can ever stop kissing him long enough to do so. Damen's hands are everywhere, as if he can't decide on where to place them, and eventually he gets them underneath his shirt and against his skin, and Laurent gasps. Damen's fingers find the scar that he had touched earlier and he skims over it gently, softly, and the touch is so reverent that Laurent feels his breath catch. He reaches down and bites down hard on Damen's neck to chase away the feeling, and Damen makes a strangled sound of mixed pleasure and pain that sends a trail of fire down Laurent's spine.

"Oh, Damen," Laurent whispers, knowing that Damen is close, "come for me, sweetheart, I want to feel--"

And that's enough to send Damen over the edge as he spills over Laurent's fingers and his own bare chest, and as Damen claims his mouth again for a hard, blistering kiss Laurent knows that he's standing on the edge of a precipice, one that there will be no coming back from if he takes the plunge. 

"Why are you smiling?" Damen murmurs, running fingers through Laurent's tousled hair.

"No reason," Laurent says, and falls.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gotta earn that E rating!
> 
> It always seemed unfair that during the time in the first book when Damen was dressed in basically nothing Laurent hated his guts. Well, now Damen's half naked again and Laurent's totally into it. Hope you enjoyed it!


	9. Get Him to the Church On Time

The next day, Laurent puts on his old clothes--the tattered frock coat, the cheap trousers, the boots with the soles that had been repaired dozens of times--and steps out of his rooms. He feels like he's wearing a costume, even though these were the kind of clothes he had worn his entire life. It was too easy to get used to this kind of lifestyle; he'd have to work harder to make sure he didn't get too comfortable.

Ancel had proven true to his word, and when Laurent had returned home last night he had found a missive waiting for him detailing everything that Ancel had known about Kastor's visit to the Orchid. Just thinking about the Black Orchid is enough to make him start blushing, and he picks up his pace, hoping that the exertion from walking will make it less obvious. He doesn't regret what he and Damen had done in the club, not even a little, and he suspects Damen feels the same way--no, he _knows_ Damen feels the same. The carriage ride back to Laurent's residence had been quiet but comfortable, with Damen searching for small ways to touch him, brushing his arm, or putting a hand on his knee, and when Laurent had said goodbye and made to leave the carriage Damen had pulled him back so that Laurent had practically fallen into his lap and had kissed him, deep and slow, and Laurent had been forced to eventually push him away, because it didn't seem like Damen was going to stop of his own volition.

Laurent had to hide in the lobby for a good ten minutes before he felt composed enough to return to his rooms. 

As for what this meant for them--well, they could cross that bridge when they came to it. There was no point in worrying about the future, not right now. Laurent knew, from the first time he kissed him in that locked room right up to the time he had climbed into his lap that this would end, eventually. They would get the will back, Damen would be declared the rightful Duke, and Laurent would disappear into the background where he belonged. Richer, to be certain, and more comfortable than he had ever been before, but he wasn't like Damen. He didn't know how to live in these big mansions; he wasn't made to live in that kind of luxury. And he wouldn't ever see Damen again, which would be for the best. Laurent knew even now that he wouldn't be able to bear seeing him with some young debutante on his arm, with Damen looking at her like he used to look at him. He could survive never seeing Damen again, if necessary, but he couldn't survive that.

He sees his destination in front of him, and he clears his head. Damen was probably waiting for him to come and share the news of Ancel's note, but when Laurent had seen who Kastor had been meeting with he had decided that it would be better for him to go alone.

"Welcome," says a gruff looking man behind the counter as Laurent enters. "What can I do for you?"

"I'd like to speak with Jord, please," Laurent says, leaning on the counter with a calculated insouciance.

"No one here by that name," the man says easily, "but if you want to mail some letters, I can help you."

Laurent turns one of his bitchiest glares on the man and lets the silence draw out for an uncomfortable moment.

"I would like," he says precisely, "to speak with Jord. You can tell him Laurent has an urgent request. I'll wait here."

The man grumbles for a moment more but Laurent wins their brief staring contest and the man disappears up a small set of stairs. Laurent looks around the small office and wonders if the people who post their letters here know there's a master forger working upstairs. 

He would bet not. That would defeat the purpose, after all. 

When the man clomps back down the stairs he's wearing a defeated expression, which Laurent takes as a good sign.

"He's upstairs," the man says. "Third floor."

Laurent doesn't bother saying thanks as he winds his way up the small staircase. When he comes to the attic on the third floor he knocks and hears a voice from inside telling him to come in. He isn't prepared for the space that he sees once he opens the door; far from the small and cramped office downstairs this area is large and lets in light from the windows that line both sides of the room. There are drawings tacked up to the walls that cover almost every inch of space that isn't a window, and larger canvases lean haphazardly wherever there was room. 

"Hello, Laurent," Jord says, peeking out from behind a canvas. "It's been a while. You wanted to see me? I can't stop working right now, unfortunately, I'm on a pretty strict timetable. You know how the Regent is."

Laurent winces. "Of course. I just had a few questions, actually, it shouldn't take too much of your time. May I...may I see what you're working on?"

Jord nods and Laurent comes around to where he's painting. Sitting on one easel is a painting of a young boy with a large golden retriever sleeping at his feet, and on the other easel Jord is working on recreating the picture and, aside from a half finished dog, Laurent can barely discern the difference between the two.

"That's incredible," Laurent says, looking quickly between the two paintings. It really was uncanny. "You've gotten so much better since I last saw you."

Jord smiles as he puts a dab of golden paint on the canvas. "And when was that? Eight years ago, or so?"

"Yes," Laurent says, "but Auguste shows me some of your work sometimes, whenever you two work jobs together. You've been improving quite a bit."

Jord hums and starts detailing some of the fur in the dog's coat. "I'm assuming you didn't come here only to flatter me. What can I do for you? You need something copied?"

"No, actually," Laurent says, leaving Jord to his work and eyeing some of the pieces on the wall. "I had a question about a job you already finished, actually."

"Hey, if something gets called out as a forgery it's not my fault. Everything gets sent by the Regent first, you can take it up with him."

"No, that's not what I meant. In fact, if you had done your job a little less well you would have made my job much easier," Laurent says. A lot of the sketches hanging around the space are figure drawings, and a lot of them seem to feature the same handsome model, a youthful figure with an aristocratic nose and tumbling locks of dark brown hair.

"Do you remember a job you did for a man named Kastor Akielos?" Laurent asks him. 

Jord is silent for a moment, and when Laurent looks over at him he's paused in his painting and a blush has stolen across his face.

"Ah," he says, "you've been talking to Ancel."

"He says the two of you talked at the Black Orchid," Laurent says, continuing along his examination of the room. "I think I probably know what you talked about, but I wanted to hear you confirm my suspicions."

"I go there sometimes to draw the workers," Jord says, gesturing at the drawings around the room. "They're good for figure drawing studies, more pleasant to work with than most models and they're happy to get paid to lounge around naked. Your mark interrupted me one day while I was drawing, said he had a job for me." Jord shrugs. "I don't know how he knew to ask for me, but I took the job. The Regent got his cut from it too, if that's why you're here."

"It's not," Laurent says. "I'm not his lackey."

"Just his nephew," Jord points out.

"That's never counted for anything and you know it," Laurent snaps. "Auguste and I were shoved into that hellhole same as you, same as Ancel. We've both got the scars to prove it."

"Okay, okay, sorry," Jord says, picking up his brush again. "You can never be too careful, you know?"

Laurent sighs and forces down his temper. "I know," he says.

"So what suspicions did you want confirmed, then? If Ancel told you Kastor was there seeing me you must have some idea of what he wanted already."

"Do you remember what the job was? Any of the details?"

Jord sighs and puts his brush down, sticking it into a cup of dirty water. "It was a while ago, lets see. It was a legal document of some sort, I remember because I hate doing those and his was really complicated. It was...I want to say it was a will. Yes, I'm sure it was, because shortly after I finished it I heard about it causing a big commotion among the upper crust. If I had known it was going to be something that was under such public scrutiny I probably wouldn't have done it," he says irritably, "but it seems like it passed muster."

"You're right, it did," Laurent says, feeling like he's getting closer to something important. "Do you remember anything else about it? Anything you can remember might help."

"Hmm. Well, I remember Kastor wouldn't let me alter the original. I told him it would be easier to do that, and cheaper besides, but he said he wanted to keep it intact for some stupid reason. I assume since you're here that was a mistake on his part, but he didn't seem like the smartest guy in the world."

"Why do you say that?" Aside from the obvious, Laurent thinks.

But Jord just shrugs. "He played at the whole thing like it was some kind of game. It was just a simple business transaction, but he played it like it was a story out of a penny dreadful novel. He gave me his real address as well, told me if I ever needed to call on him for any reason that I should ask for Castor. Like, Castor with a C, not a K. I don't know how anyone on earth would hear the difference, but apparently he found it very amusing. I felt like I was being left out of a joke or something, I hated it. The only time I went over there was to drop off the finished product though, I didn't indulge him. I don't remember anything strange about his estate either, it all seemed pretty normal to me, typical rich snob lodgings."

Castor, instead of Kastor. Just like the story Damen had told to him that night. Laurent stands up, heart racing. He would need to double check, and he would need some help, but if he was right--

"Was that helpful?" Jord asks, breaking Laurent out of his train of thought.

"Yes, very. Thank you, Jord. I owe you one."

"Actually..." Jord says, trailing off.

That was a bit quicker than Laurent had anticipated. "Yes?"

"Do you...do you see Ancel very often?"

"More than I would like," he says dryly. 

"Well if you run across him, could you maybe just ask him if..." Jord stops again, obviously uncomfortable, and Laurent watches as his eye goes to the drawings on the wall, the ones of the handsome young man. "Would you ask him if Aimeric ever says anything about me?" He asks, and flushes.

Laurent has to hide his smile, and he solemnly promises that he will.

********

"Auguste, I need you to do me a favor," Laurent says, when he's returned back to his rooms at the hotel. "Where's Nicaise?"

"He's with his teacher, the one down the hall. They're learning about Roman soldiers today, so be ready for a toga party later on. You missed the Viking funeral yesterday, by the way."

Laurent feels a pang at that, even though Auguste didn't make it sound like an admonishment, and he sits down heavily on the couch. 

"I'm sorry, Auguste," he says, "I know I haven't been around much lately. I've been so swept up with everything..." Laurent realizes that he doesn't want to call it a job, not anymore. He obviously wasn't doing this for the money, and for a while he pretended that he was doing it out of some sort of professional pride, before he finally admitted to himself that he didn't really have any. No, he was doing this for Damen, because he wanted to see him with his title restored, wanted to help him heal whatever sort of wound Kastor had created when he had stolen it from him. 

"Hey," says Auguste, nudging him with his knee. "I didn't mean it like that. I know you've been busy; it's hardly the first time one of us has been called away from the other for longer than we've liked. Remember that time I was running that art dealer con? I was away for what, a week?"

Laurent smiles. "Six days. And you came back talking with an Irish lilt for the next month."

"I can't help that I'm such a professional," August drawls theatrically. "What's the favor, little brother?"

"Oh. I need you to go to Kastor's house, the big one over near Mayfair. I think I know where Kastor hid the will. Or, I think I might have some idea."

"I'm pretty sure that's going to need to be your job, Laurent. You know I'm shite at cracking safes."

"It's not in a safe," Laurent says, turning towards his brother, unable to contain his excitement. "I should have realized it from the start. Don't you see, keeping the original will is such a stupid idea that the only reason Kastor would have kept it is out of some sort of excessive sentimentality and deep self loathing. And Damen told me about these stories their mother used to read to them as children, and it hit me. I don't think Kastor is keeping it in a safe. I think he's just self destructive enough to keep it laying around, and I think he's keeping it in a book of children's stories in his childhood home. To punish himself, or because he wants it to be found...I'm not quite sure. But I have a good feeling about it."

Auguste blinks and turns a suspicious eye on him. "That seems like a pretty large leap, Laurent. How can you be sure?"

"I'm not. It's just a hunch."

"Well that's not very convincing."

"Please, Auguste. I can't go; one of the servants might recognize me, or his valet might be there or something, I don't know. Or god forbid Jokaste is hanging around. It's too dangerous for me, and we're too close to finishing this thing to jeopardize it. You can say that you're a book inspector, maybe. Or you want to buy his book collection, I don't know."

"Oh yes, I do so hate the monthly book inspector visit," Auguste says sarcastically. "Leave the con jobs to me, Laurent."

"Happy to," Laurent says. "I think this past month has showed how ill equipped I am at it anyway. So will you be able to do it? Today?"

"I'll do it, Laurent, of course you know I will. But..." he stops, and Laurent recognizes the posture he takes. It's the one he uses when they don't have enough money for rent, or when they're short on paying their uncle, or when one of the kids from their street gets picked up and locked away. "Have you considered what will happen, after you've found it?"

"Of course," Laurent says, his chest tight. "We're going to get our house, remember? In the country, with horses and a school for Nicaise--"

"That's not what I'm talking about and you know it," Auguste says, full of big brother disapproval. "You know this thing between you and Damen is going to come to an end, right?"

"There's no 'thing'. We're just friends," Laurent says, ignoring his brother's disbelieving gaze, "and he knows that too. Once this is over we'll go our separate ways and that will be that. It'll be okay, Auguste, I promise."

"You can lie to yourself, little brother," Auguste says, pushing himself off the couch, "but you can't lie to me. I'll go get your will. And once you have it in front of you, well, maybe you'll feel differently then."

And Laurent doesn't stop him, because he knows that he's probably right.

*******

With Auguste gone and Nicaise at his lessons, Laurent finds his rooms oppressive. Changing into some of his nicer casual clothes he exits the hotel and walks towards one of the parks in the area, hoping that the relatively fresh air will help clear his thoughts. He could always go visit Damen, but he already knows how that will go. He'll be escorted to the drawing room by the perpetually even Jeeves, and then Damen will come in and see him, and his face will light up and those ridiculous dimples will come out and Laurent will go over and kiss him, or he'll let Damen come over and kiss him--either way, the ending will be the same. He can't deal with that, not right now. Because he knew Auguste was right, and he knew it at the club last night, and he knew it this morning. There was no way that he and Damen could stay together, regardless of how much either one of them may want to. Laurent could get away with being his fiancé for a while, but eventually the truth would come out and if he didn't disappear out of the _ton's_ attention he would be exposed as a fraud, and then what? Damen would be shamed, Laurent would be ostracized, and the pressure of everything would be too much for either one of them to manage and the ending would be the same, except with some extra heartbreak thrown in for good measure.  


But for a moment, Laurent lets himself imagine it. Imagine a world where he wasn't a thief and a cheat and a scoundrel, a world where his uncle didn't exist and he could have grown up with safe, loving parents in addition to his perfect brother. Nicaise would be there too, because Laurent couldn't imagine a world without him by their side, and they would be a respectable middle class family. He and Damen would meet at a ball, perhaps, or maybe at the theater, and Laurent would catch his eye and Damen would be taken with his looks at first, but then they would slowly learn more about each other and get to fall in love naturally, without needing to crack safes or find missing wills or pretend at anything.

Well. Who knows. Maybe in that world Damen would have taken up with Jokaste for real and that would have been it. He looks around him, realizes that he hasn't walked to the park at all, but is two houses down from Damen's. He must have walked here unconsciously, and with a sigh he turns around and goes back home.

By the time he gets back to his rooms it's almost dark out, and Laurent has managed to calm his mind a little. When he gets to his door he notices that it's not fully latched shut, and he rolls his eyes as he pushes it open.

"Nicaise, you really have to--" And then he stops.

Sitting at the kitchen table with Nicaise in his lap is his uncle, who has a tight fist around Nicaise's upper arm. Govart stands behind them, glowering, but Laurent barely registers him, he only looks at Nicaise, who stares back at him, his eyes wide with fear.

"Hello, nephew," his uncle says. "Have you missed me?"

**********

"Uncle," Laurent says carefully, surreptitiously looking around for something, anything he can fight with, if he needs to, "I didn't expect to see you today."

His uncle snorts. "I would bet not. These are nice lodgings you have here, Laurent. Nice clothes, too. Tell me, what exactly are you doing for Lord Damianos to receive such fine treatment? Are you fucking him?"

Shit. Of course his uncle knew about Damen; of course Laurent should have known better than to think he could have pulled off something like this without his uncle knowing. He had been stupid, and had gotten lazy. He should have never accepted these rooms, hell, never accepted the job itself, he should have known he wasn't destined to ever climb out of the pit that he had been thrust into as a child and now Nicaise was in danger and it was all his fault.

"No," he says, knowing that he can't possibly not answer, "it's just a job. I'm just...he hired me to be his fiancé so that I could break into some safes for him. That's all."

"That's all?" Uncle repeats. "That's all, he says. Did you not inform this Lord Damianos of the way things work, nephew? Does he not know that I own you, and that if he wanted to use you for any sort of purpose he needed to have my blessing?"

It becomes apparent after a moment that his uncle is waiting for an answer, and that it wasn't a rhetorical question.

"No," Laurent grits out. "No, he didn't know that. I didn't tell him."

"And to think, Laurent. I could have sold you to that brothel for a good sum of money, with your blonde hair and those pretty eyes of yours. At least there you'd be compensated for being such a whore."

"I'm not fucking him," Laurent says coldly. He has to play this very carefully; alone, he could do what he liked and could take his uncle's punishment if he felt like talking back was worth it. But here with Nicaise in the mix he couldn't risk that, and he bites back any further retorts.

"You could have already paid off your debt to me," Uncle continues, "if Auguste had let me sell you. Don't you resent him for that, Laurent? You could have been free of me, and all you would have had to do is charge for what you're giving away for nothing."

Laurent doesn't point out that he still would be able to threaten Nicaise even if he was technically free of his uncle, and decides it's probably best not to bring that up.

"Let him go," Laurent says, softening his voice. "Please, Uncle. We can talk, I'll tell you everything, I swear."

"You should have been telling me everything in the first place," Uncle snaps. "I allow you such leniency on account of you being my nephew, and this is how you repay me? By lying to me, and stealing money right out under the nose of some idiotic disinherited degenerate without giving me a cut?"

"Don't talk about him that way," Laurent snaps. "He's not--"

"Careful, Laurent," Uncle says, tightening his grip on Nicaise's arm, causing him to whimper. "I don't like your tone right now, and I don't think you want me to hurt your dear baby brother."

Laurent feels like all of the wind has been knocked out of his lungs. "He's not a baby," he whispers.  


"And he's not my brother," Nicaise spits. Their eyes lock, and Laurent hears the emptiness of their familiar phrase like a blow.

Uncle stares at him for a moment before shrugging casually. "Well, I suppose that makes this a lot easier then. Laurent, I expect you to pay me our standard rate on anything you've made off of this Lord Damianos. And I wouldn't try anything funny, if I were you. I already know exactly how much he's paying you." He pauses, and Laurent's breath catches. That couldn't be all. That would leave them with very little, to be sure, but it might still be enough to buy somewhere small for the three of them--

"And I'll be taking Nicaise back with me to St. Giles," he finishes with a sadistic grin.

"No," Laurent shouts, and before he realizes what's happening he's lunging towards them but something is holding him back--Govart. He hadn't even seen him move, he had been so fast, and Laurent struggles against him for a moment before realizing it's hopeless, and that he'll only break his arm. Nicaise is staring at him, too shocked to move, and Uncle is still gripping him hard enough to leave a bruise.

"Please, Uncle, wait," Laurent says, trying to calm his frantic mind. "You can't take him. Please. I'll do anything."

"Laurent, don't--" Nicaise starts, and is silenced by Uncle.

"That's better," he says, motioning for Govart to release him. He does, and Laurent shakes him off. "You know, Laurent, your life could have been so much easier if you'd cultivated a better sense of people pleasing. You're so talented, if only you'd made yourself a little less prickly you probably could have had a very pleasant life."

"Yes, Uncle," Laurent says, knowing it's what he wants to hear, but his Uncle just tsks.

"I can still hear the rebellion in your voice," he muses, "but it's no matter. I do have something you can do for me, actually."

"And you won't take Nicaise?" Laurent asks quickly.

His uncle gives him a disgusted look. "I don't even see why you'd want him. He's just a scraggly little thing, and there are a million more just like him on every street in London. You could go take one of them if you want to have a child so much. Is Auguste such a terrible brother to you that you need to latch on to any urchin that crosses your path to get that brotherly love you so desperately crave?"

"Tell me what I need to do to keep him," Laurent says, ignoring the taunt. "I'll do it, I swear."

Uncle sighs deeply. "All I need for you to do is marry Lord Damianos."

"What?" Laurent asks, when his uncle doesn't continue.

"Don't tell me you've gotten stupid as well as soft," Uncle says, frowning. "I want you to marry Lord Damianos."

"But we're only pretending--"

"And you will find a way to make it real," his uncle says, interrupting him with no small amount of anger. "I don't care what your previous arrangement was, I want you to find a way to get into the marriage bed with him and I want you tied to him, do you understand me?"

And in a flash, Laurent does.

"This is about the will," Laurent says softly.

His uncle grins maliciously at him. "Maybe not so stupid, after all."

"Once we're married, you'll ensure he gets his title back," Laurent says, unable to stop. "And he'll be one of the most powerful men in England, he'll have a seat in the House of Lords, and you'll use me to--"

"You understand where I'm going with this, I think," his uncle says, standing up and shoving Nicaise, who stumbles towards Laurent and then wraps his arms around him tightly. Nicaise buries his head in Laurent's chest and doesn't look up. "And I daresay it won't even be that unpleasant of a job, from the sound of it. You should thank me for being so kind, Laurent."

"Thank you, Uncle," he says, twisting out the bitter words. His uncle sighs, and pats Nicaise on the head as he walks by, causing the boy to wince. 

"You have two weeks, Laurent. And don't even think you'll be able to get out of this. I knew what you were doing from the moment you two met in that cafe, and I'll know if you try anything stupid. Next time I won't let you barter your way out, I will just take Nicaise and you will never see him again, do you understand?"

"Yes, Uncle," Laurent whispers, still not letting go of Nicaise.

He hears the door close, and Laurent collapses to the floor with Nicaise clutching him tightly, and that's how Auguste finds them when he finally gets home.

********

"We have to leave."

"We can't. He'll find us. He won't ever stop chasing us. If we were anyone else--"

"You can't do what he wants, Laurent. He'd hold it over you forever."

"You think I don't know that?" Laurent says, his voice catching. "I don't know what to do." 

The three of them are sitting on the couch, with Laurent and Auguste on either side of Nicaise. Neither one of them is willing to let him out of their sight, and Nicaise is still terrified from his encounter with the Regent that he is more than fine with allowing that. He's got a hand on each of them as if to reassure himself that they are still there, even though he can see them both. 

"You could just let him take me," Nicaise says in a small voice.

"No," comes the emphatic response from both brothers. 

"It's not like he'd kill me," Nicaise says. "I'm too valuable. And I've lived by myself before."

"And you won't ever have to again," Auguste says. "That's not an option, and we won't be discussing it. What else do we have?"

"How much money is left on our debts to him?" Laurent asks. He knows what the answer will be before he even sees Auguste wince.

"It doesn't matter," Auguste says. "Those debts are there so that they can't ever be repaid. We could work for him for a thousand years and still never be able to get out from under them. I don't think even Damen's extensive fortune could quite touch it."

"Who charges orphans for room and board?" Nicaise grumbles. "Especially without them knowing. He's such a bastard."

"We could kill him," Auguste says.

They're silent for a moment, and Laurent knows that his brothers are imagining it in graphic detail, just like he is. It's a pleasant fantasy, but hardly realistic. There was no way they'd ever be able to overpower his guards even if they managed to get close enough to him. Not like any of them were fighters anyhow.

"You could...just do what he says," Nicaise offers up quietly. 

Laurent closes his eyes. He knows he could get Damen to agree to it--even thinking that causes him to feel like he's sinking into deep water--and he envisions what that would look like, if he'd ever be able to forget that it was something his uncle forced him to do rather than something he wanted to do, if they would ever have small moments together where Laurent could forget that he was just put there to be a viper in the sand, ready to strike at his uncle's bidding.

"No," he says softly, "please. I will, if you think it's the only option. But..."

"But I thought you liked him," Nicaise says.

"I do," Laurent admits, running his hand through Nicaise's curls. "Very much, actually. And that's why I don't want to do that to him."

"But you could tell him!" Nicaise says, shaking Laurent off of him and kneeling on the cushions. "And he'd be a Duke, and he'd be more powerful than anyone and he could take down Uncle!"

"No, he couldn't," Laurent says, "and get your shoes off the furniture. As long as Uncle could use me to influence Damen the two of you would be at risk. Any time I didn't jump at his beck and call you would be in danger, and I would do it if it were the only way to keep you two safe, but..." but he didn't want to do that to Damen, he knows, and he feels like his soul is being torn in half. "And even if you two were safe somehow Damen still wouldn't be able to take him out. You know Uncle has blackmail on everyone, including people Damen cares about."

"Like who? The only person he seems to care about is you," Nicaise says, and Laurent reels from the hit. 

"He has friends. Nikandros, who also presumably has family and friends of his own. Damen wouldn't be able to handle it if something bad happened to them because of him. And he still loves his brother, even after everything. And I'm certain Uncle has something on Kastor. It seems like everyone does."

"Oh, I forgot," Auguste says, going over to grab the bag he was carrying with him when he came home. "It seems pointless now, but you were right, Laurent. I found it in a children's book of Greek Myths."

Auguste hands Laurent a piece of paper full of flowery language and curlicues so dense he can barely parse it. He squints at the writing and makes out Damen's name scattered throughout, and an especially conclusive part bequeathing Kastor a single country house--and the small one, at that.

"I can't believe it was here the whole time," Laurent says, handing it back to Auguste who places it carefully on one a side table. "And he didn't even need a safe cracker to get it."

"He might not have needed a safe cracker but he did need you," Auguste points out. "He would have never found it without your brilliant brain."

"My brilliant brain was what got us into this mess," Laurent says, leaning back into the couch. "There has to be another way out of this."

The three of them sit together and Laurent runs through all of his options, one by one, dismissing plans and tweaking them and discarding again. As he goes through every conceivable plan an idea starts to coalesce in his brain, and as he runs down every possible outcome and brutally eliminates every potential problem that crops up he discovers that there is a way to do this--to save Damen, save Auguste, save Nicaise. Maybe not save himself, but as long as those three were safe then that would hardly matter. He looks over at Auguste, who's smiling at a sleepy Nicaise, and he feels a piercing pain stab through his heart. His brothers--he loved them more than anything. But Auguste was right about him feeling differently once he had the will in hand, and he can't run from the fact that this thing he feels for Damen is something that's very close to love as well. And if there was a way to save both his brothers and Damen, well then he would move heaven and earth to make that happen.

"Don't worry, Laurent," Auguste says when he notices Laurent looking at him. "We'll find another way."

"I think you're right, Auguste," Laurent says, his mind made up. "I think you're right."

*********

"Are you sure about this, Laurent?" Auguste asks him softly the next morning as Nicaise packs up everything they have of value. Auguste is wearing one of his better suits and he looks dashing in it; Laurent feels an unexpected swell of emotion pass through him and in an indulgent moment he reaches out and hugs his brother.

"I'm sure," he says muffled into Auguste's shoulder. "Thank you for doing this."

"What are all of my contacts for, if not to exploit them when I need them," Auguste says, stroking Laurent's hair gently. It had been a long time since Laurent had let himself be comforted by his brother in this way, but he only allows himself a few more seconds before pulling away. 

"I'll meet you at the docks tomorrow morning," Laurent says, making sure that Auguste is facing away when he says it. "Ten o'clock. And you're not to let Nicaise out of your sight today, right?"

"Laurent," Auguste says, coming over and placing his hands on his shoulders, "it's okay. We'll be careful, I promise. I swear, sometimes you worry so much you'd think you were our mother. Are you going to give the will to Damen today?"

"Yes, I'm going to go see him later. You don't think...he won't find out today, will he?" Laurent asks.

"No, not today. This news will travel fast, but it won't be that fast. People still have to adhere to visiting hours and go to scheduled events and the like."

"It's just that the timing has to be perfect on this, because if we're off and it spreads too quickly--" 

"Laurent," Auguste says soothingly, "I know what I'm doing. I know exactly who to talk to to make this thing go at exactly the speed I want it to, I promise you. Now. Are you sure this is what you want?"

Laurent closes his eyes and breathes deeply. Is this what he _wanted_? No, not even close. To have everyone find out about him being a thief, to have that information spread like wildfire through the people that Damen called his peers--it went against his nature of not wanting to be seen, of wanting to disappear into the crowd. And more than that, once everyone got wind that he was a thief who was just playing Damen for his money it meant that Damen would be out of his grasp forever, and any fantasies that he may have entertained about the two of them forging through this life together would be dashed to the ground. But having everything out in the open was the only way they could outsmart their uncle, make sure that he held no advantages over any of them. And that was really all they could hope for.

But it wasn't what he _wanted_ , not by a long shot.

"I'm sure," Laurent says. "Please don't ask me again. I can't bear it." 

"You know, even when everyone finds out about this Damen might not care," Auguste says quietly. "He's never really held society's opinion about him in high regard. He might still want to be with you anyway. Are you prepared for that?"

"No, I'm not," Laurent says honestly. "So I'm not even going to let it get to that point. I'm going to give him the will and I'm going to tell him it's over. That the job is complete and that there's no reason for us to ever see each other again. By the time he hears about the rest of it he'll be so angry at me that it won't matter." 

Auguste looks at him sadly, and Laurent has to turn away from him. 

"It needs to happen, Auguste. Otherwise..." otherwise Damen might come after him. Might follow him to the ends of the earth, if he let him. If it was just a matter of societal expectations Laurent knew that Damen wouldn't give a damn, but if his pride was wounded, if his feelings for Laurent were crushed--well, that might be the only way to make sure this went the way he needed it to go.

"Nicaise, come here," Auguste says, motioning for Nicaise to stop packing and to join them. When he does Auguste gathers them closely, putting an arm around each one of their shoulders. Laurent leans into it, and he can feel his brothers leaning back.

"I know this is tough," Auguste says, "but I think we've all known on some level that Uncle would eventually force us into a corner that we might not be able to get out of. But we will make it through this, I promise you. We'll be able to start over again in a new place where no one knows who we are or has any hold over us. And you two--Laurent, you can open a bookstore and be surrounded by every sort of book you'd ever want to read, and Nicaise, you can go to school and you can help him on the weekends. And I...maybe I can be an actor, somewhere. I don't know. The important thing is that we'll figure it out together. Okay?"

Laurent and Nicaise murmur their assent, and Auguste smiles. 

"Okay. Come on, Nicaise. We should get going if we want to finish all of our errands today. Laurent, we'll meet you at the docks tomorrow. Ten o'clock, right?"

"Right," Laurent says, squeezing them one last time before releasing them. "Tomorrow." Laurent feels a pang, watching them leave, as he thinks about the second part of his plan, the part Auguste and Nicaise don't know about yet, and then quickly dismisses the thought. He had promised himself he wouldn't think about that today. Tomorrow everything would change, and he would have to deal with that later. But today he still had his brothers, still had Damen, and he could pretend that everything was going to be all right.

For one more day, everything would be all right. Laurent goes to the window and watches them walk down the street, watches until he can't see them anymore. If it was going to be the last time he ever saw his brothers he wanted to watch them as long as he could.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh noooo


	10. Show Me

Damen retires early that night, although he finds when he goes to his room that he's not tired in the least. That's not surprising, really; for the last two days he had been full of a tense, nervous energy that even an extensive sword play session with Nikandros couldn't cure him of. He had thought that the exercise would at least tire out his muscles, and it did, but even still he couldn't stop moving, pacing, restlessly stalking the halls of his estate and generally annoying all of his servants to no end.

He had been waiting at home in case Laurent decided to call on him and share the information he had gotten from Ancel, but he hadn't. That was fine. It had been less than a day since they had seen each other, less than a day since their excursion to Ancel's club, since Laurent had climbed in his lap and had whispered those delightfully sinful things in his ear--

He really had to stop thinking about it, or he was going to drive himself crazy. He hadn't even realized that he had been fiddling with the candlesticks that sat on his mantle, and he replaces them to their original locations before he turns--and runs straight into Laurent.

"Jesus, Laurent," Damen says, his pulse racing. For a moment he wonders if he had somehow summoned Laurent just by thinking about him so much, but he has enough sense to not voice that thought. "How long have you been standing there?"

"Long enough to watch you play with the candlesticks, turn around the pictures on the shelf over there, and rearraange those books," Laurent says, nodding towards the bookcase in the corner of the room. True to his word the pictures are turned around; Damen doesn't even remember doing that. He figures that he should probably be angry that Laurent was spying on him, but he can't help but let out a quiet laugh.

"You know, if you wanted to watch me walk around in circles all day you could have called on me at a regular hour, instead of stealing into my bedroom in the middle of the night."

"It's 8:30, Damen. And I wanted to sneak in here," he shrugs gracefully, "because I'm a thief, I suppose. It's what I do."

Something about the way he says that makes Damen wary, but Laurent's posture is relaxed and he's looking at him with a certain quality of gaze that Damen is beginning to recognize as an invitation. And so instead of challenging him on that statement he walks towards him, watching for any signs of sudden tension and, when he doesn't see any, puts a gentle hand on Laurent's cheek. Laurent leans into it artlessly and then Damen can't help himself any more and he's reaching down, claiming Laurent's lips with his own, and it's already so different from the kisses they had shared the other day but also so familiar, and he wonders how many different facets Laurent has, and if he'll ever get tired of trying to find all of them.

"I missed you," he says quietly when they pull away from each other.

"It's only been a day," Laurent says, and he sounds slightly annoyed but he's blushing and Damen knows he's only covering for how embarrassed he is. Damen reaches down to quickly kiss each of his reddened cheeks and then pulls away before Laurent can admonish him.

"Is everything okay?" Damen asks him, peering at his face. Laurent is very good at shuttering himself when he doesn't want to be seen, but Damen is getting better at reading even that action as its own kind of mood.

"It's fine," Laurent says, breaking away from him and going over to right the pictures and books that Damen had inadvertently messed with earlier. "I just came over to drop something off, and I wanted to say hello. I should probably get going."

"Don't go," Damen says "not yet. Please." Distantly he wonders what Laurent needed to drop off, but right now getting him to stay was more important. He could find out whatever else later.

"You want me to stay?" Laurent asks, his voice strange. "Here, in your bedroom. What will the gossips say."

"I don't care what they say. And we don't have to stay here, if you don't want. We can go down to the drawing room if it would appease your sensibilities. Or the gardens. Or the kitchen. I don't care." _As long as it's with you._

Laurent huffs and walks over to study the books on Damen's shelf with just a little more intensity than they warranted.

"Do you ever wonder what would happen if someone found out what I really was?" He asks.

"And what are you, exactly?"

"A thief. A cheat. A scoundrel," he answers, his voice defiant, and Damen thinks that the real reason Laurent came over here tonight was probably for a fight, but it's the second time he's said something like that and he's not willing to let those accusations go again.

"I think," he says, his tone gentle, "that you wouldn't really care if people thought those things about you. I think you would care more if they knew the things you actually try to hide from everyone, instead of the things you use as a shield to protect yourself."

"And what would you know about what I'm hiding," he says bitterly.

Damen sends him a look. "Laurent. I'm sure that you have secrets, but I know the important things. I know that for all your prickly exterior, you have a heart that's too big for your chest." He picks up one of Laurent's hands and kisses it and Laurent watches him warily, but he doesn't pull away. "I know that how your uncle treats the kids in his care bothers you more than you'll admit. I know that you're the kind of person who'd step in front of a knife to save someone else--"

"That's enough," Laurent says, tugging his hand free. "Why are you making this so difficult?"

"Making what difficult?" Damen asks. "Won't you tell me what's bothering you?"

"You're going to get your title back," Laurent says, looking at him evenly, "and then you'll be a Duke. You'll have responsibilities to your country and to your peers. You'll get married to some fancy lady and have a million children and you'll be so happy you won't know what to do with yourself."

For most people a prophecy like that would make them swoon with excitement; to Damen, if felt like a death knell.

"I don't want any of--"

"Do _not_ finish that sentence," Laurent says, his eyes flashing. "You'll have all of that, but not tonight. Tonight I don't have to share you with anyone. Tonight you're mine, Damianos. And for tonight I'm yours. If you want me."

Damen doesn't think that there are enough words in the English language to express how much he does, and so he reaches down and claims Laurent's mouth with his own and shows him. Laurent is being sweet and pliant right now, making the softest whimpering sounds into Damen's mouth and Damen feels overwhelmed with desire for this complicated, obstinate man. He knows that something is still bothering Laurent but if he didn't want to talk it out right now they could do so later; what Laurent doesn't seem to understand, and Damen knows with an unerring certainty, is that they'll have all the time they need because he's never letting Laurent go. There won't be any fancy lady or millions of children because there's no future Damen can see that doesn't involve getting to be with Laurent every hour of every day. And Damen will spend as long as it takes to convince Laurent of that fact, even if it takes the rest of his life.

"Stop," Damen says, breaking away and looking down at him. His lips are swollen and his hair tousled and he already looks halfway debauched. "I'm not letting you get away with keeping your clothes on this time, Laurent. Not when you got to see me so exposed at the club. It's only fair, if you think about it."

"I think I can follow that convoluted logic," Laurent says sarcastically, undoing his cravat and throwing it on the ground. "There. Is that good enough for you?"

Damen smiles, and takes a few steps backward until he's sitting on one of the chairs scattered around the room. "It's a start. Keep going."

Laurent's eyes flash as he realizes the game that Damen is offering to play with him right now, and he regards him with a look that makes Damen wonder if he's going to tell him to go to hell. But then Laurent puts his fingers to the line of buttons down the front of his vest, drawing out each and every one with an unbearable slowness, keeping his eyes locked on Damen the entire time. Damen watches his fingers work with mechanical precision, the same elegant movements whether there were lock picks or buttons in between them, and he smiles. 

"Something funny, Damianos?" Laurent asks him haughtily.

"I was just remembering the first time we met. You told me you had magic fingers," he says, and laughs. "I thought you were just being arrogant, but you were right."

"Of course I was right," he says, dropping the vest with a smooth dip of his shoulders. He's just in his shirt and trousers now, and he holds his hands out. "There. Are you satisfied?"

"Never," Damen says. "Keep going."

"If you'll never be satisfied I hardly see the point," he says, but he's already working on the buttons on his shirt. He's going a little faster now, his restraint slipping, and Damen is almost already fully hard and he has barely been touched at all. He has a brief fantasy of watching Laurent touch himself after he's done undressing, but Damen already knows he wouldn't be able to keep his hands to himself for that long. And then Laurent's shirt is on the ground with the rest of his discarded clothes and his chest is bared and--oh. For the first time, Damen sees a physical catalogue of how bad Laurent's childhood had been. He sees the scar that Ancel had alluded to, a starburst of pale skin right under his ribs, but it's only one of the many that dot across his torso. He doesn't have many of the long slashes like Damen has--not too many swords or machetes in St. Giles, he guesses--and most are smaller and more twisted than his own, a few even faded so that they're barely visible. Some look like they had healed badly, or maybe just inexpertly; he wonders how many of them Auguste had patched up. 

"Disappointed?" Laurent asks, quirking an eyebrow. 

"Only that you still have your trousers on," Damen says, and then he suddenly can't stand this playing between them anymore. "I want to touch you, Laurent."

"You'll have to wait," he says imperiously, reaching down to tug off his boot. "Doing it this way was your idea, you know."

"I know. I like the part where you get naked, I just want to get to the part where I get to touch you while you're naked," Damen says, grinning as Laurent works to control his blush. He stumbles a little as he yanks off the remaining boot and Damen is up an instant, steadying him, and they both know it's just a flimsy excuse for them to be touching but Laurent doesn't call him out on it and Damen is grateful. With a light pressure that Laurent could fight back against if he wanted to--but doesn't--Damen pushes him towards the bed and when they finally get there Laurent sits down heavily. Damen follows him, running a hand across his chest and feeling the uneven landscape of all of his scars underneath his fingers.

"We match, you and I," Damen says, tracing over a large web of scar tissue on his shoulder. "But I guess you knew that from almost the beginning, didn't you?"

"Don't say things like that," Laurent says, his breath ragged. "I can't take it. Not tonight."

Damen brings Laurent's hand up to his mouth and kisses the knuckles gently. 

"Are you sure you're okay?" Damen asks him again. Laurent has a vaguely haunted look about him, and Damen's slow attentions don't seem to be doing anything to distract him.

"I'll be better if you take some of your clothes off," Laurent says, reaching over and kissing him and pushing him down forcefully. Damen lets him and Laurent is straddling him now, fussing with his buttons and doing what he can to wrestle Damen out of his clothes, as quick and fumbling with Damen as he had been slow and careful with himself. Before he knows it Laurent has divested him of the rest of his clothes and Laurent looks down at him, triumphant.

"I win," he says, and wraps his fingers around Damen's cock.

"You know," Damen says, bucking into Laurent's touch despite himself, "if you had your pants off we could both be winning."

"Oh?" Laurent drawls, slipping his hand off of Damen's cock and flopping down on the bed next to him. "In that case, then, attend me."

Damen pushes himself up and looks at the sight of Laurent on his bed, already disheveled and half undressed, one arm flung above his head and the other seeking the warmth of Damen's body. Damen grabs that hand and puts it up next to the other one and presses down, an indication that he wants Laurent to keep it there. Something complicated and dark passes over Laurent's face when he does that, and Damen takes note.

"Are you going to be good, or am I going to need to tie you up?" Damen asks, and he can hear how husky his voice is, can hear how it affects Laurent, who takes in a sharp breath.

"I'll never say no to that," he says, "but I can be good. For now."

"How are you always so much more than I could hope for," Damen murmurs, using his tongue to trace a path down Laurent's beautiful, elegant neck and down to his collarbone. He can feel the frantic beating of Laurent's heart under his skin, can almost hear it, it's so loud, and he moves down just a bit until he's able to take Laurent's nipple in his mouth and sucks on it gently. This gets a soft breath from Laurent, and following a hunch he uses his teeth to bite just a little harder than would be considered gentle, which elicits a louder gasp.

"I thought you were taking off my pants," Laurent says through stuttered breaths.

"I don't remember saying that," Damen says, moving over so that he can bite at the other nipple. Laurent's hands are clenched tightly above him. "You told me to attend you, and that's what I'm doing."

"If I had known you needed more precise instruction, I would have been more blunt," Laurent says, fidgeting. "I want you to take off my pants, Damianos. I want you inside of me."

"Fuck," Damen chokes out, stumbling in his slow route across Laurent's body.

"Yes, that's the idea."

"I'm not going to let you distract me," Damen says, his fingers working on the fastening of Laurent's pants, and then he stops. "I didn't know you had a pair of pants in onyx."

"Oh my _god_ , Damen, are you seriously asking me about my clothes right now instead of taking advantage of the fact that I could be out of them?" Laurent says, propping himself up on his elbows and looking down at him. "I'm not going to beg, you know. I can take care of things myself if you don't want to."

"I'd like to see that," Damen murmurs, "and I'd like to see you begging too, for that matter."

"Well maybe if you did anything worth begging for," Laurent says, lifting his hips at Damen's insistence so that he can slide his pants down, "maybe I--"

And then he's rendered silent as Damen wraps his mouth around his cock. Not entirely silent, to be sure, but he seems to suddenly be unable to form any witty retorts. They've been replaced by small whimpers and bitten off moans and Damen chases the sound of each one of them, teasing and testing to see what gets him the best results. He pushes his tongue into the slit of Laurent's cock and that gets him a delightful groan and Laurent's fingers threading through his hair, alternatively tugging or stroking depending on how rough or gentle Damen is being. Laurent snaps his hips up a few times, causing Damen to choke just a little bit, and when he manages to look up he sees an evil smile playing on Laurent's lips; he was doing it on purpose. Damen retaliates by taking him down deep, as deep as he can bear, using his considerable strength to keep Laurent from making any more sudden movements and the pressure of that force seems to affect Laurent almost more than the fact that his cock is practically hitting the back of Damen's throat. Damen starts a rhythm that he can feel Laurent react bodily to, but after a moment he pulls off; he doesn't want to end things too soon.

"Please tell me you have some oil somewhere," Laurent gasps out, as Damen nips at the inside of his thigh. Damen reluctantly abandons his position on the bed and goes to root through his night stand, and eventually he finds a bottle of oil that doesn't look like it's a hundred years old.

"Been a while, hmm?" Laurent asks, smirking at him as he wrestles with getting the stopper off the top. 

"Laurent," Damen says reproachfully, coating his fingers, "is there anything else you'd like to say before I fuck the words out of you?"

"I've been waiting all night to hear you say that," Laurent says, and then stops talking as Damen presses a finger against his entrance. What follows then is a series of fractured sounds, stifled gasps, stuttered variations on Damen's name, and Damen is pressing inside slowly, so slowly, but he can feel Laurent start to relax and open up against his fingers. Laurent's eyes are squeezed shut right now but his face is more open than Damen is used to, probably more open than Laurent is aware of. There's a youthfulness hidden there that Laurent usually has protected, concealed behind walls and walls of the hard outer shell he's needed to create to protect himself and keep himself alive. Damen realizes suddenly that all of his forwardness in bed is just Laurent's way of safeguarding himself, of assuming control over his situation, and he wonders if Laurent has ever had a sexual encounter that has just been tender and sweet, if he's ever trusted anyone enough to let them treat him that way.

"I'm not going to break," Laurent says, moving his hips when Damen stills. "You can go faster."

"I know," Damen says. "Open your eyes, Laurent. Look at me."

Laurent does, slowly, peeking up at him shyly, and Damen smiles and reaches down for a kiss. "I'm not going to hurt you, Laurent."

"I can take it, Damen. You don't have to go easy on me."

"That's not what I meant," he says softly, and Laurent closes his eyes again. "I said open them, Laurent. I want to see you."

"You're inside of me right now," Laurent grits out, "how much more of me do you want?"

Damen laughs, and works his fingers in deeper, watching the sensations of what he's doing flicker across Laurent's face. "I want all of you, Laurent. Don't you know that by now? I want everything."

Laurent takes a deep, ragged breath at those words, and Damen can see tears at the corner of his eyes.

"Damen," he says, a choking, strangled sound, "please, Damen, I need you."

Damen knows that there is more than one admission in that statement, and he nods and reaches down to kiss him one more time. Laurent winds his arms around Damen's neck and keeps him close and Damen can feel the moment when those walls come crumbling down and Laurent gives himself up entirely to him. Pushing inside of Laurent is the single best experience he's ever had; Laurent is hot and tight around him and Damen has to hold himself back from the urge to bury himself all the way in all at once. Laurent is watching him, his big blue eyes drinking in every inch of Damen's face, and he's angling his hips up in a way that makes Damen feel like he's about to die. He can feel his pleasure building inside of him, climbing closer and closer towards his peak but he pushes it down. He wants to concentrate on Laurent's pleasure instead but watching him come undone underneath him is too much, and he closes his eyes against it.

"Damen," Laurent says, and then Laurent's hands on are either side of his face, forcing his gaze, "open your eyes, sweetheart. I want to see you too."

And Damen opens his eyes and sees Laurent underneath him, flushed and sweaty and the most goddamn beautiful thing he's ever laid eyes on and Laurent is gazing back at him with such naked adoration in his eyes and suddenly it's too much for him to bear. He wants to hold on; he wants to let go; and as he hears Laurent's name calling him as if from a great distance he finally gives in and lets the world overwhelm him.

********

"I've been thinking," Damen says, afterwards, after they've both caught their breath, after they've cleaned each other up and they're lying in bed.

"Mmmm?" Laurent hums, pleasingly boneless next to him.

"About what happens after we find the will," Damen says. He can sense Laurent tense up next to him more than he can see it, and his voice is strained when he speaks next.

"Why would you be thinking about that?"

"Because I think we need to talk about it," Damen says, propping himself up on an elbow so that he can look at Laurent.

"There's nothing to talk about," Laurent says, throwing an arm over his eyes in an attempt, Damen assumes, to hide from him. "After this job is over I'll disappear back into the ether and you can continue going to your boring rich people parties. Every once in a while whenever you feel nostalgic about this you can talk to Nikandros and he can remind you what a terrible idea this whole thing was."

Damen knows what Laurent is doing, and he ignores it. "I don't think we should cancel our engagement."

"Our fake engagement, you mean? If your reputation can take forged wills and gaming hells and sex clubs then I think it can survive breaking a fake engagement."

"That's not what I meant, and you know it," Damen says softly. He gently reaches out to move Laurent's hand, and when he does Laurent is staring back at him with those beautiful blue eyes, his expression unreadable. "We're good together, Laurent."

"No, we're not," Laurent says, sitting up and propping himself up against the headboard, rubbing at his face. "You would be good with anyone, because you're _you_. I'm a thief, Damen. I'm no one. I don't belong here."

"You know that's not true, you're--"

"And people will find out about me, I promise you," Laurent continues, interrupting him. "It's not a matter of if, it's a matter of when. And it will be sooner than you think."

"Well when they do we can weather it together," Damen says, sitting up so that he can face Laurent. "Listen, if you're trying to make excuses because you don't..." he sighs, and closes his eyes briefly. "I am obviously not going to force you to do something you find distasteful. If you don't feel about me like I feel about you--"

" _Don't_ ," says Laurent, his voice harsh. In a graceful movement he turns and braces his hands against Damen's shoulders, settling down over his lap. Once he's settled he runs a lazy finger across Damen's chest, following the path of his scars, and then he moves further up, tracing the lines of Damen's neck. Damen is quiet under this attention, waiting to see where Laurent is going with this, and is not too surprised when he leans in and bites gently at the soft skin under Damen's ear, followed by a bite that's a little less gentle. Right when he's about to say something Laurent relents, and uses his tongue to ease the sting. Damen knows it will leave a mark, even against his dark skin; it feels like a brand.

"You know how I feel about you," Laurent whispers. "You can't honestly tell me you have any doubts about that." He reaches over slowly, so slowly, to deliver a small, chaste kiss against Damen's lips that quickly develops into something that's blistering and hot and so blatantly wanting that Damen feels himself start to rouse again, and so soon after they had just finished. 

"Is that a yes, then?" Damen asks, breathless.

"You haven't asked me a question."

"Laurent, will you do me the honor of--"

"Stop," he says, closing his eyes briefly. He takes a few deep breaths, and when he opens his eyes again and focuses his gaze on Damen the intensity of it causes his heart to stutter inside of his chest. "Don't. Not tonight. Ask me in the morning."

And then he reaches in for another kiss, and there are no more words between them for the rest of the night.

********

Damen wakes the next morning to a polite but insistent knock coming from his bedroom door. 

"Give me a minute," he calls out hoarsely, and rolls over to wake up Laurent--but the other side of the bed is cold, and Damen sighs. Even when they were at Kastor's house for the party Laurent was always an early riser, so he shouldn't be that surprised, but just once he wants to wake up and see Laurent next to him in bed, wants to kiss him slowly awake, wants to feel the sleep warm skin underneath his hands. He was probably already down in the kitchens, getting some breakfast. With a groan Damen shoves himself up to a sitting position and calls out to Jeeves.

"Come in, Jeeves," he says, stretching. "What's so urgent this early in the morning?"

Jeeves pokes his head in, keeping his eyes respectfully down. "You have a visitor, Master Damen."

"A visitor? It's eight o'clock in the morning," Damen says, annoyed. "Visiting hours don't start for another--" he flaps a hand, "for a while. Who is it?"

"It's Madame Jokaste, Master Damen," Jeeves says, and Damen can hear the faintest whiff of disapproval. Jeeves had never been fond of Jokaste. "I informed her that you were unavailable, but she was adamant she see you as soon as possible. Demanding, I would say. She said she had news most urgent that couldn't wait and if you didn't come down to see her she would come up here."

Damen sighs, but he pushes himself off of the bed and starts the hunt for some appropriate clothes. Jokaste was a lot of things, but she wouldn't have come here at such an odd hour without having good reason and that reason was, most likely, not just to cause a scene. 

"Tell her I'll be right down," Damen says, throwing on some pants. "And if the cook is up, bring us some tea. Oh, and if you see Laurent, tell him to avoid the drawing room for now."

Jeeves nods, face not betraying anything at the mention of his overnight guest. "As you wish, Master Damen," he says, and closes the door. He was a professional through and through. 

It only takes Damen ten minutes or so to get ready as he isn't too concerned about his appearance right now. If Jokaste wanted to visit him at some ungodly hour of the morning she could deal with his disheveled hair and improperly tied cravat. He pushes open the door to the drawing room and Jokaste stands up when she hears the noise, wringing her hands.

"Oh Damen," she says, walking over and hugging him briefly. Damen is so shocked at the gesture that he allows it without protest, and when she pulls back from him her blue eyes are wide with concern that to all appearances seems genuine. But then Damen had never been able to read her as well as she could him. "I came as soon as I heard. Are you all right?"

"Why wouldn't I be?" He asks, gesturing for her to sit. She sits next to him and grabs his hand, and Damen has to stop himself from yanking it away from her grip. She seems authentically worried though, and so for the moment he allows it. Her concern is making his anxiety skyrocket, and it's all he can do to not grab her by her shoulders and shake her and have her spill whatever she knows.

"You...haven't heard," Jokaste says, and sighs. "I suppose you wouldn't have."

"It's eight o'clock in the morning, Jokaste," he says, annoyed. "How would I have heard anything yet? You woke me up."

"I didn't want to be the one to tell you this," she says, getting up and pacing the room. "But I suppose if you don't know yet, it will be better coming from a friend."

"Jokaste, if you don't tell me what you're talking about right now I'll kick you out of this house, I swear I will," he growls. "What is going on?"

"Damen, I..." she takes a deep breath, and then stops pacing and sits back down, looking him straight in the eye. "I have information that Lord Laurent is not what he seems. Or Mr. Laurent isn't, I suppose, although who knows if even _that's_ his real name."

Damen feels a trickle of ice go down his spine, but before he can gather his thoughts Jokaste continues.

"It turns out that the man you called your fiancé isn't who he said he was. It turns out he's nothing more than a common thief. Damen, he has no family stationed in India. He doesn't have a title or anything else, he made it all up to...to swindle you out of your fortune, I fear."

Laurent had spoken about this last night. He had asked Damen what he would do if people ever found out...did he know about this? Damen feels a stab of anger as he remembers Laurent's strange mood last night, his avoidance of Damen's questions as to how he was doing, how he had said he had only come over to drop something off, and then leave. He must have known, must have been intentionally hiding that he knew--and with Jokaste's information, Laurent's actions last night suddenly click into place for him. Laurent knew this was going to happen, and not at some unspecified time in the future but today, right now. His words from last night ring in his head-- _it will be sooner than you think_.   


"How many people know about this?" Damen asks, staring straight ahead. 

"Lady Eugenie told me last night," Jokaste says, and Damen winces. Eugenie was a notorious gossip; it would be everywhere by now. "But Damen...you have to know that no one is blaming you. Everyone can see well enough why you would fall for him. He deceived us as well. And you're lucky you weren't married already, and that he didn't have a chance to take your fortune. You haven't...you haven't given him anything, have you?" She asks, her voice as timid as Damen has ever heard it.

_Ask me in the morning_ , Laurent had said, knowing he would already be gone.  Damen lets out a harsh laugh in reply. No, he hadn't given him anything important. Nothing except his heart.

But Jokaste misunderstands the reason for that response, and she softens. "Oh, Damen. It's only money, and you have enough of it to go around. We'll find him and make him pay, do you understand? I have contacts at Scotland Yard, I can get them to--"

"Don't, Jokaste. I don't want anyone involved in this, do you understand?" Damen says, snapping out of his maudlin thoughts. "Tell me you won't go to the police."

"Damen, I know you cared for him, but he deceived you," she says, and Damen closes his eyes. "I understand that you might feel a certain softness towards him, but you were just a job to him, he didn't really--"

"Don't say another word, Jokaste. I can't hear this right now. Promise me you won't contact Scotland Yard. Promise." 

"Okay, I promise," she says, a little taken aback at the forcefulness of his words. "But don't you want--"

"Please, I just need to be alone."

"I understand," she says, setting a light hand on his shoulder. "I'm going to be back to check on you later though, okay? You're my friend, Damen, regardless of everything that's happened between us, and I'll be here for you if you need me. Remember, everyone is behind you on this. You'll have support, whenever you're ready for it."

Damen puts his head in his hands and distantly hears Jokaste swish out of the room and close the door behind her. He's not sure how much time passes but when he hears a knock on the door the sun has fully risen and the room is awash in light.  


"Master Damen," Jeeves says, walking into the room timidly, "we were unable to find Master Laurent in the house."

"I know," Damen says, voice hoarse.

"I did find something in your room, though," Jeeves says, handing Damen a large file folder and then making to leave. "I think you might want to see it."

Damen knows that whatever he finds in here won't provide him with any answers, but he does have a feeling it will make a few more pieces of information fall into place. He rips open the folder and two pieces of paper tumble out, one large, one small, and he reaches for the larger one first.

It's the will. The real, original will, just as Damen remembers seeing it from right before his father died. He scans through it quickly, sees his name in bold letters being declared the next Duke of Akielos and he feels--nothing. Was this how is was supposed to go? He had always thought that once he saw this piece of paper, held it in his hands, that everything would resolve and he would feel whole again, he would find a renewed sense of purpose in the world and a sense of surety that had been missing in him for so long. But when he looks inside of himself now all he feels is a gaping emptiness, and a firm certainty that he had briefly held such things in his hands not too long ago and that it was gone now, possibly forever.

The other piece of paper is a letter, and it's from Laurent. His fingers shake as he opens it up.

_Damen,_

_Sometimes an evil sorcerer is just a man, and sometimes a prince is just a thief._

_~Laurent Rabat_

Damen reads the note over four, five, ten times, and then in a fit he tears it up into tiny pieces and throws it on the floor. He grabs his coat and hat and when the door slams behind him the entire block feels the force of his anger.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Am I capable of writing a sex scene that isn't 90% dialogue? The answer is obviously yes; this one was at least 95% dialogue.
> 
> God this one was really hard to write, I hope it works.


	11. I Want You to Want Me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I cannot believe it, we have made it to the end! Thank you to everyone who read this, commented on this, kudo'd it or just in general had fun with it! I appreciate everyone who came this far and I hope you guys like the ending.
> 
> You might have noticed there is an extra chapter after this one. It's a silly bonus chapter, set three years after this and only tangentially related to this story--I wrote it because I thought the title of the chapter was really funny and l wasn't quite ready to let these boys go yet. Think of it as a teaser trailer for a movie that will never get made. If you're hoping for something to be wrapped up or some threads I've left undone to be cleaned up this thing is...not that. If you choose to go no further I don't blame you so enjoy this chapter, the real ending!

_Auguste,_

_I think you probably know me well enough by now to know what this letter is going to say just from the fact that it's not me standing here, ready to board the ship with you, but I'm going to say it anyway. I'm not coming with you and Nicaise. I know you thought that if the three of us could just disappear he wouldn't have any recourse, wouldn't bother to find us, but you're wrong. I know him better than you do; growing up with his boot on our throats has colored more of my life than yours and I know how deep his possessiveness really goes--those debts he has on us aren't there to crush us, it's to keep us tied to him forever, forced to never abandon him. He would have never stopped hunting us if we all left, but he_ will _cut his losses if I give myself up to him. And if even that's not enough--well. I have contingency plans for that too._

 _If you're thinking of coming after me, don't. By the time you're reading this I'll already be at Uncle's and if you come in some short sighted attempt to save me you'll only be putting me in more danger, not to mention yourself and Nicaise. I could forgive you for the former_ _but I would never forgive you for the latter. Please know this was the only way to make sure that the two of you stay safe--and I would give up even more than this to make sure of that.  
_

_After what I did yesterday there will be no way forward for Damen and I. I doubt he will ever want to speak to me again. I told you of my plan to go over there, drop the will off and break with him, but I found in the moment that I couldn't do that. You were right, about my feelings toward him. I was trying so hard to look away from it but I couldn't anymore, seeing him there, looking at me like he was. I ended up doing probably the most selfish thing I have ever done in my life and followed what my heart was telling me, if only for a few hours, and I fear that my weakness made the situation a million times worse than what I had planned.  
_

_It hurts, Auguste. I won't lie to you and say it doesn't, and it hurts more than I thought anything ever would. Missing the two of you hurts only slightly less but that's only because I know that we will eventually see each other again. I will outlast Uncle if it kills me, and then I will join you and Nicaise. I will find you, make no mistake about that. Make sure that you buy me some books so that I'll have something to do when you're throwing your wild parties._

_Enclosed you will find a letter of credit to a bank that has locations all over Europe. All of the money I made from the job with Damen is there. It should be enough for the two of you to buy a small house somewhere and live comfortably until I can join you. It is not traceable, so don't worry about Uncle tracking you somehow. You will be safe, I promise you that._

_Tell Nicaise I love him. I love you too, big brother. We'll be together again before you know it.  
_

_Yours always,_

_Laurent_

It's been a week since Laurent sent that letter to Auguste and had given Damen back the will and cut himself out of his life for good. He wonders what his brothers are up to right now; he knows Auguste would have been furious with him for doing what he did, but deep down Laurent knows that he would have seen the reason in it eventually. They should be safely over in Europe by now, and Laurent spends most of his free time--which was most of his time, at this point--imagining quaint little French villages, quiet little German towns or small chalets in the Swiss hills where they could have conceivably bought a house. He hopes that whatever they find, it has a little yard. Having a little garden would be nice. 

And as for Damen...Laurent sighs. He wishes he could get some information about how Damen is doing, but Uncle doesn't let him out very often. Never around anyone who Laurent could trust to make some discreet inquiries at any rate, and so Laurent only has his imagination when it comes to how he's been faring. He hopes that Damen is already over him. Maybe his betrayal was enough to make Damen see what Laurent had known all along--that he deserved someone better, someone kinder, more respectable, someone who wouldn't lie and deceive but was instead as good and pure as Damen himself was. Whenever he feels like punishing himself he thinks about that, thinks about what Damen might say to him if they ever met again, how Damen would laugh and wipe at his brow in an exaggerated fashion, thanking all of his lucky stars that Laurent hadn't said yes to his idiotic proposal, and how glad he was that he wasn't yoked to such a detestable human being.

But sometimes, late at night when he tries to sleep on the uncomfortable little cot in the tiny little room of his uncle's mansion that he now calls home, he lets himself imagine Damen overcome with passionate longing for him, imagines him breaking down the door to his room and scooping Laurent up in his arms, imagines Damen seeing him on the street, on those rare times that Uncle allows him to go outside with heavy guard, and watching as his face lights up in pleasure when their eyes finally meet. He remembers how Damen had looked at him on their last night together, how he had looked at Laurent like he was the most precious, rare creature in the entire world, had treated him so tenderly and sweetly that Laurent thought he would surely be unmade by it. 

None of these make him feel any better, but he can't help but play them over and over in his mind.

Uncle had been furious that morning that Laurent came to him, but Laurent had been so broken after his night with Damen that he barely even noticed. Word had already spread by then about Laurent being made and although his uncle suspected Laurent's hand in it he hadn't been able to prove anything and besides, the damage had been done. Even Uncle, for all that he had his fingers in everyone's business, couldn't put that cat back in the bag. And when he had asked him about where his precious brothers had gone Laurent could honestly answer that he had no idea because he genuinely didn't know, and Uncle knew that he was telling the truth. It hadn't lessened his fury at all, but it did hone that fury towards Laurent instead of towards finding his brothers, which had been the plan all along.

He had gone on a few jobs in the past week as well, scheduled break-ins that couldn't be moved just because of disobedient safe crackers or insolent nephews. Laurent was happy enough to comply, even if he was under strict watch--his uncle had threatened him with doing harm to Damen if he used those jobs as an opportunity to slip from his grasp, but Laurent had no intention of leaving and his uncle probably suspected that on some level. He had turned himself in voluntarily, after all. Laurent was happy enough to set his mind to something and liked that during a job he could, for up to thirty seconds sometimes, not think about how terribly everything had turned out.

He also thinks about ways he can kill his uncle. But that will have to come later. He's too suspicious right now. Still, it never hurts to be prepared.

On the ninth day of his confinement at his uncle's--no, not his confinement, this was his new life, there was no point in not accepting that--he gets sent word that his uncle expects him to accompany him to a fancy event that night, and to dress accordingly. Laurent is surprised, and a little unnerved; his uncle employs every sort of person to do every sort of job and he was staunchly against getting his hands dirty by doing things himself, so the fact that he is going out personally is worrisome. There's more than a good chance that whatever they will be doing tonight won't involve breaking into safes and if that's the case, Laurent can only imagine that this whole endeavor will not go pleasantly for him.

But he dresses anyway. He doesn't really have a choice. If he refused to leave his room Uncle would probably just give Govart leave to come in and have some fun with him, which was something Laurent had managed to avoid so far by being on his best behavior. Uncle could be cruel and malicious at the best of times but he wasn't sadistic. If he ever let Govart have free reign with him it would be because Laurent did something so horrible that his uncle would think it was warranted, and so he works exceptionally hard to not let that happen. Besides, he needed to be in relatively stable condition if he still needed to go out on jobs and Govart was not a subtle man, which he secretly guessed had more to do with it than any other consideration as far as his uncle was concerned.

The ride to their destination is silent and uncomfortable. His uncle looks incredibly pleased with himself, which only makes Laurent more nervous about what's going to happen tonight, but he works on keeping up his stoic facade. He thinks of the last time he was in a carriage, with Damen, and how Damen had looked at him with those chocolate brown eyes that edged towards gold in a certain light. How Laurent could almost read every move he was going to make before he did it, they were so in tune with each other. How Damen had dragged him into his lap, kissed him softly, and then a little rougher--

"We're here," Uncle says, snapping him out of his thoughts. Laurent nods and waits for his uncle to get out before following and he hopes that nothing shows on his face. 

They're in front of a large estate somewhere near Mayfair, maybe, and there's a ball going on, judging by the amount of carriages and people that surround the house. His uncle has brought them around the back, and Laurent can only hear the distant sounds of guests' laughter and the music from the band over the more utilitarian noise of the kitchens. He finds suddenly that he's sick to death of parties but he doesn't dare say anything as his uncle leads him through the kitchens and up a flight of stairs. The servants seem preternaturally anxious to avoid stopping them, which strikes Laurent as odd, but he supposes that their arrival was anticipated and that the servants have been paid off in some way. He feels a spike of anxiety push up through his chest, and then immediately pushes it down with force as he follows his uncle up a winding staircase. He has a feeling he's going to need all of his wits about him if he's going to survive tonight. 

"Uncle?" He asks quietly when he can't stand it anymore. "Where are we going?"

"Just here, my boy," he says, and draws back a curtain on a small alcove.

On some level it reminds Laurent of the box that he and Damen had shared when they went to the theater to go see that terrible play, although this space is much, much tinier. It sits a few floors above the main ballroom and was, perhaps, a space used by the servants to gain access to the large chandeliers that hang ponderously from the ceiling. This little nook could also have been created intentionally for spying, he supposes, but either way it was barely big enough for two people to squeeze into and Laurent doesn't relish the thought of being in there with his uncle. He's pushed inside anyway, though, and Uncle crowds in uncomfortably close behind him and gestures down at the pretty guests below. The entire ballroom is spread out underneath their feet, and Laurent can see everything, all of the sparkling people twirling and laughing.

"Look," Uncle says, pointing, and Laurent follows the direction of his finger--and freezes. He's pointing directly at Damen. Laurent would recognize him anywhere, two stories up or two hundred stories up, it wouldn't matter. He's wearing a fancy suit that Laurent hasn't seen before, tight black trousers and a fitted blue frock coat with a yellow vest on underneath. Laurent drinks in the sight of him like a man in a desert, ignoring his uncle, ignoring the guests, looking at nothing except Damen. And he--he looks very good. He's smiling and laughing like he doesn't have a care in the world, which Laurent supposes he really doesn't. He has his title back, he has his freedom, he has the support of the _ton_ behind him. The other party goers are drawn to him and his magnetic energy, and Laurent can count no less than six women and three men making the most outrageous googly eyes at him. 

And yet--something isn't right.

"See how happy he looks?" His uncle asks him, murmuring into his ear. "It's like he's forgotten you already. It's amazing how people can flourish when they don't have wretches like you dragging them down."

Laurent can't take his eyes off of him. There's something about the set of his shoulders that isn't right, or perhaps it's the way he takes a woman's hand to dance. Laurent knows his body, knows its lines, and the more he stares at him the more he's convinced that something is off. His smile, too, is wrong. He's deploying it frequently but it doesn't touch his eyes, and his dimples haven't come out once. Now that he's added up all of these small incongruities he can't imagine how anyone else doesn't see it, can't imagine why anyone isn't taking him aside and telling him that he might as well be broadcasting his discomfort to the world. He wonders if his uncle notices, but he can hear him chuckling softly behind him and he doubts it. Laurent can feel his heart begin to beat faster in his chest.

"Why did you bring me here?" Laurent asks. "I always knew he would be happier without me. I didn't need confirmation."

"Ah, but I think you did," Uncle says. "You see, there's a part of you that still holds out hope. That still thinks that someday your gallant prince will come to save you. I'm tired of it," he says, squeezing Laurent's arm painfully. "I want to see that part of you die out once and for all. You're mine, Laurent, and there's no one else in the world now who will care for you like I do. Even your precious brothers abandoned you. You have no one except for me. Say it," he demands.

Laurent wonders if he can somehow throw his uncle off of this precarious ledge they were standing on, almost thinks it would be worth it to jump and take his uncle with him and be done with it for good. He might have, too, if it wasn't for the oddness of Damen's countenance. 

"There's nothing," Laurent grits out around the pain of his uncle's grip on his arm. He refuses to say the words his uncle wants him to say. "I swear to you I don't have any illusions about him. He'll get married to one of those women down there one day and I'll be cracking safes for you until I die. There's nothing between us anymore."

"Oh, Laurent," his uncle says, "if only you could hear your voice. I can practically taste the lies spilling out of your mouth. I think we'll watch a little longer, hmm? Just in case anything...interesting happens."

Laurent only realizes that he's squirming when his uncle's grip tightens, and he makes a conscious effort to calm himself. His uncle must know something, and whatever it is Laurent can only assume it's the real reason he was brought here tonight, which means that it isn't anything good. 

Luckily, he doesn't have to wait too long to find out what it is.

"Ladies and gentlemen!" Damen calls out to the room, striding over to the stage where the musicians have stopped for a moment. "Can I have your attention please!"

Everyone turns toward him. His presence is magnetic and inviting, and Laurent feels a swell of pride suffuse through him even though he knows he has no right to feel that way. Damen was a great orator; it was probably what made him so successful in the Royal Forces, and even though Laurent might not be there to see it he knows that Damen could be a great leader in the political world too, if he wants, or if he marries a suitably ambitious lady. Laurent wonders if he'll ever be able to think things like that without feeling like someone has stabbed him in the heart.

"First off, I want to thank my good friend Nikandros for hosting this ball tonight," he says, and waves toward the back of the room. People applaud politely and look around for the master of the house, but Damen continues before he can be brought out for more thanks. "I don't think I could have survived this week without him. And without your support as well," he says, gesturing towards the crowd. "I know it was short notice to bring all of you here, but I couldn't postpone my engagement party for a moment longer. Or, perhaps it might be more accurate to say that I didn't _want_ to postpone it," he says, to a polite chuckling of the crowd.

Laurent feels himself grow cold as his uncle curls possessively around him. They were at Damen's engagement party. Laurent knew, rationally speaking, that Damen would eventually get engaged, get married to someone better and more suitable to be the partner of a Duke than he was, but he had taken refuge in the fact that he wouldn't have to see it--in all honesty he had hoped that he would never even have to hear about it. It's not like they ran in the same circles, not anymore. And now--now his uncle was going to force him to watch Damen celebrate his new  fiancé in front of this crowd, in front of him, when Damen had looked at him with such love and reverence just a week ago, and Laurent isn't sure that that is something he is going to be able to survive. His uncle had known that this would break him. He had counted on it. 

Damen continues on, relentless. "I never knew how many friends I had until you all came out to support me, and I wanted no one else here except you, my dearest friends, to celebrate this momentous occasion with me. So thank you for coming out here tonight." 

There's a louder clapping this time, and someone in the back whistles sharply, and Damen puts up a hand to quiet them.

"But I don't think any of you are really my friends, are you?" He asks quietly, and a stillness settles over the crowd. Laurent strains to hear every word, ignoring the sudden tension of his uncle behind him. "None of you were there to support me when I lost my father, not really. All you cared about was the drama that his death caused, and the gossip fuel it gave you. And after it came out that Kastor would inherit many of you who would visit me every day suddenly stopped, and started visiting him instead. Is that what friends do?" Damen asks, but the audience doesn't answer. Many of them have started murmuring amongst themselves, but Damen doesn't stop.

"In fact, besides Nikandros there has only been one person who's really, truly cared for me. Who wanted something more than the gossip and drama my existence provided. Someone who didn't care about titles or money but cared for _me,_ someone who gave up _everything_ for me even though I would have never asked him to do that in a million years. Some of you might be able to guess who I'm referring to--Laurent de Vere, my fiancé." Laurent hears the sharp intake of his own breath, and then the louder murmur that goes through the crowd. He ignores his uncle, who's digging his fingers painfully into Laurent's shoulder. 

"I knew who Laurent was from the moment I met him. I knew that he was a thief, and if any of you condemned him for deceiving you then you also condemn me, because I'm the one who introduced him to you, knowing who he was. And honestly? I don't care if you do condemn me. But I will not hear a negative word said about him. Because he is so much more than what you think he is. He's funny. He's charming, and smart and witty and biting and he can look at a person and intuit things about them that they never had the courage to see for themselves. His occupation may be frowned upon but he had as much choice in his station in life as the rest of you did, and he still managed to be more compassionate, more honest and more competent than any of you."

The stunned silence that meets this declaration is charged, and gives way quickly to an angry murmuring that Laurent knows with the instincts of having grown up on the streets will turn to violence soon. Damen opens his mouth to quiet them and to continue on, but Uncle is cursing now and Laurent can't make out anything he's saying.

"We're leaving," his uncle snaps, dragging Laurent away from their little alcove. Gripping him hard by the wrist his uncle leads him down the flight of stairs until they're back on the main floor in the servant's area, heading towards the kitchens and outside where their carriage is parked.

"Isn't this what you wanted me to see, Uncle?" Laurent asks him, the reason for Damen's uneasiness from earlier coalescing into something he is just beginning to understand. "You wanted me broken, and the man who should hate me more than anyone else is telling everyone he knows what he really thinks of me--isn't this what you wanted?"

Faster than Laurent thought possible his uncle turns and backhands him across the face, causing Laurent to stumble. He knows he has a stupidly shocked expression on his face, even though the blow didn't actually hurt that much; for all that his uncle had ever done to him and to his brothers he had never laid a hand on them before, not personally. He may have instructed others to do so, Laurent had always suspected, but he never did so himself, and the easy violence of it stuns him.

"You will not speak to me again," his uncle hisses, advancing on him. "Not until--"

"And you will not lay a hand on him again," a man says, stepping out of the shadows. When he comes into the light of the kitchen Laurent realizes with a start that it's Nikandros, and that he's holding a sword at his uncle's neck. His uncle turns around, away from the blade--to find another man waiting there, sword drawn. It takes a few seconds for Laurent to understand that they're surrounded by a dozen or so armed men. As he looks around he sees that every cook, waiter and servant has a sword in hand, looking more comfortable with a weapon than they had earlier with a pot or serving tray.

"What's going on here?" His uncle snaps, trying to move towards Laurent again but being prevented from doing so with Nikandros' sword against his neck. "Do you know who I am? Do you know what I can do to you?"

"I don't, really," Nik says, nodding for one of the other soldiers to come and restrain him. "And I find that I don't really care. I do know, though, that the Queen of England _does_ care. And I don't think she's too happy with you and your little moniker."

"My moniker--really? Do you think you're clever?" His uncle asks, swinging his gaze towards Laurent. "You're not. I'm going to be out of these chains in a matter of days and then I'll be coming for you with everything I have. You'll never know a moment's peace, Laurent." 

"I haven't known one since you've been in my life anyway," Laurent says, going over to stand by Nik. "So I can't see anything changing too much."

Laurent watches in a daze as his uncle is led out of the kitchens by a contingent of armed guards, spitting and hissing the entire way. Once he's gone the kitchen is silent again, emptied of everyone except Nik, who's watching Laurent with a strange expression on his face. Laurent can only barely process what just happened, the sudden reversal of his fortune, and he feels like he might just be sick, or that he might float away on the wind.

"Nikandros, what is--"

"Laurent?"

He turns on instinct when he hears the voice, like a flower finding the sun. When he turns he hardly believes that Damen will be standing there, close by, and won't disappear into the mist of his foggy brain, but as he stares at him the vision of Damen in front of him doesn't waver. They lock eyes for a moment and Laurent feels something like a sob leave him, and then before he can even take a step in any direction Damen is crossing the space between them and wrapping him up in his arms, squeezing him tightly and burying his face into his neck. Laurent's arms are around him and he feels his feet leave the floor, briefly, before Damen gently sets him back down, and even the pressure of Damen against him isn't enough to convince him this isn't a dream. He's sure that any second now he'll wake up on his tiny cot and start the dream all over again.

"Damen, what--" he starts, running his hands over Damen's shoulders, his arms, unable to form any coherent sentences with Damen in front of him, and it was really him, he was really there, he was really getting to touch him, "--what is--"

And then Damen is kissing him, hard and rough and Laurent knows that Damen also can't quite believe that he's standing here, that they're really being allowed this. A faint part of his brain registers Nik's theatrical sigh, but then all he can think of is how good Damen feels against him, how much he's missed this, how actually being here in Damen's arms puts all of his own fantasies to shame. Laurent pulls away only after he feels lightheaded from not breathing, and when he looks up Damen is smiling at him with those dimples out, and he's so, so handsome Laurent thinks he won't be able to handle it.

"Damen, what's going on?" Laurent says, after catching his breath.

"Come on," he says, grabbing Laurent's hand in his own. "I'll tell you everything."

********

Laurent lets Damen drag him out of the house and he follows blindly, barely allowing himself to accept that he's not going to have to leave with his uncle and be forced back to that enormous, empty mansion and locked in his tiny room. Damen is a solid, real presence next to him and their fingers are intertwined, neither one willing to lose that slight physical connection with the other. They pass a large armored carriage in the yard and Laurent watches as his uncle is roughly shoved inside by one of the undercover soldiers. Uncle goes to the bars of the window and sneers at Laurent, who pauses as they make their way past him.

"Did you plan this, nephew?" he hisses, fingers gripping into the steel bars. "I'm going to come after you once I'm out and then--"

"You won't be getting out," Damen says, standing solidly next to Laurent. "You're going to be tried for treason, among a few other things. You will spend the rest of your short life in the Tower of London, and you will _not_ be getting pardoned."

"You think I don't have contingency plans for something like this?" His uncle laughs, and shakes his head. "I've changed my mind. I'm going to come after you first and rip your family apart, one by one. Then I'll come for my traitorous nephew."

"Contingency plans like all the blackmail you've stolen over the years?" Damen asks. "That you've been keeping in your mansion that's being raided by Her Majesty's guard right now? Or are you talking about Govart, who's probably already singing as we speak in return for a lighter sentence and a deferral of the death penalty for the crimes that he's helped you to commit over the years?"

Something steals across his uncle's face then, something akin to fear, and he starts talking again but Laurent closes his ears against it and tugs at Damen's hand, dragging him away from the carriage. He suddenly wants very much to get away from this place, and Damen must know that because he gestures to the guard to take the carriage away as he pulls Laurent towards the back of the estate. 

"Where are we going?"

"Away from here," Damen says. "All of the guests are leaving, so we can't go out the front." Damen is leading him through the alley behind Nikandros' large estate, past the stables. 

"Why are they leaving?"

Damen turns and smirks at him. "You must not have heard the whole speech, then."

"Damen, stop," Laurent says, tugging on Damen's hand and digging in his heels. "Won't you tell me what's going on? How did you know...what did you tell...why did you tell all of those people those things?"

Damen stops and sighs and reaches down to kiss him gently, gently. Laurent forgets all of his questions as soon as their lips touch and he thinks that maybe, just maybe, Damen shouldn't have the power to cause all of his brain functions to stop at the same time, but he finds he doesn't really care. Damen pulls back after a moment and looks at him with an expression that makes Laurent unsure of if his legs will continue supporting his weight, and Damen reaches over to grab his hand again.

"I'll explain everything," Damen says again, leading him out of the stables and into the street. He cuts across the large boulevard and cuts through another alley; he must be going somewhere specific because he is moving with purpose. "But I want to get away from here, first."

They walk in silence for a few minutes, the night air helping cool the feverish anxiety that has plagued Laurent ever since his uncle had requested his presence for the evening. Eventually the surroundings start to look more familiar to Laurent, and he realizes with a start that they're close to Damen's estate. He's about to lead them in through the back door when Laurent stops him again, tugging sharply on his hand.

"Wait," he says, a little out of breath, "your legs are too long, I've had to practically run to keep up with you. I need a moment." He was out of breath for quite a few other reasons as well, although he suspected Damen knew that too.

Damen smiles and laughs, bringing Laurent's hand up to his mouth. "I've missed you complaining about my various body parts."

Laurent doesn't try to hide his flush as he looks up in amazement at the man standing before him, still decked out in his finery from the ball that was apparently thrown in his honor and where he ostracized every member of his social circle--all done for him, someone who had betrayed him, broken with him, had refused his marriage proposal. Laurent didn't know what to make of any of that.

"I missed every single one of those body parts," Laurent says honestly, touching him tentatively. Even though Damen couldn't take his eyes off of him and had kissed him so hungrily, so tenderly, he's still not sure if anything he said right now would be welcomed. He didn't deserve it, didn't deserve Damen's forgiveness, or his compassion, or anything. "I--you should be furious at me, right now. You were supposed to hate me."

"I wasn't furious," Damen says, grabbing his hand. "Well, maybe at first. Mostly I was just sad. But I could never hate you. And also..." he stops, and smiles fondly down at him. "Well, come on. I'll show you."

"Are you two still here?" Nikandros says, pulling up on the reins of his horse as he wheels into the courtyard. He jumps off gracefully and walks over and claps Damen on the shoulder. "Does that mean he hasn't seen--"

"Not yet," Damen says as he opens the back door and turns back towards Laurent. "This plan wasn't entirely of my own doing. In fact, most of it wasn't. I did have some help," he says, leading them through the kitchen and going towards what Laurent recognizes is the drawing room. "Some professionals, in fact."

"What professionals, what are you talking about--" Laurent says, and then Damen opens the door.

"Laurent!" Comes the cry from inside, and before Laurent can even adjust his eyes to the brightness of the room he sees a blur and feels a tiny body hitting his own, nearly bowling him over.

"Nicaise?" Laurent says, looking down at the familiar brown locks. Nicaise is hugging him tightly, squeezing him with all of his force. "What are you doing here?"

"You know we couldn't leave you behind, little brother," Auguste says, and Laurent looks up to see his older brother walking towards him. "You should have known better than to try and keep us away from you."

And then Auguste is hugging him, squishing Nicaise in between them and Laurent knows that he's never going to be able to give them up again as long as he lives.

*********

They all settle on the floor of the drawing room, throwing the pillows on the floor to sit on and building up the fire and bringing in sweets for Nicaise. Laurent sits with Damen on one side of him and Auguste on the other, amazed beyond anything that they were all here, that he was here, that they were all together and that no one was coming to tear them apart from each other.

"It was all Damen's idea, really," Auguste says after they're all settled in. "We were going to just go smash you out of Uncle's house, but he suggested something a little more permanent."

"And I helped!" Nicaise says, crawling into Laurent's lap and resting his head against Laurent's shoulder. "Nik has been teaching me how to sword fight in case Uncle brought backup. But they said I wasn't good enough yet to help out tonight. I'm getting better, though."

Laurent looks over curiously at Nik, who shrugs and blushes. "He's a good kid. He's been picking it up quickly."

"I still don't understand," Laurent says, stroking Nicaise's hair. "You two were supposed to go to Europe. Supposed to buy a house, you were going to be safe from Uncle--"

Auguste scowls at him, stopping him short. "That was a cheap move, Laurent. You had to have known that we would never leave without you. I can't believe you honestly thought that we would just accept you martyring yourself and not try to save you." 

"They showed up at my house by mid morning on the day you gave yourself up," Damen says quietly. "I've been hiding them here ever since. It took us a few days to come up with a plan on how to draw you and him out together, and then once we figured that it took us a few more days to get everything in motion."

"I still don't understand how you knew he would come to that party, and bring me with him," Laurent says, feeling the weight of everyone's actions laying heavily on his heart. He couldn't believe that they went through all of this trouble for him, and after everything he had done to push them away, thinking he was keeping them safe. "I don't understand why he would bother."

"Because he's evil," Nicaise spits out, and everyone nods. That seems to be a good enough explanation for them, and Auguste continues.

"We put out rumors that Damen was going to announce his new engagement at Niks' party," Auguste says, and Laurent notes the easy way he speaks about the two men, "and made it seem like he was just on top of the world about it. Nik here," he says, nodding at Nikandros, "went to Govart's favorite hangout and let that information slip."

"Nikandros did?" Laurent asks, looking over at him. "But I thought..." _I thought you hated me_ , is what he wants to say. But maybe he was wrong about that too.

"I was wrong about you," Nik says, echoing his own thoughts. Laurent doesn't miss how his eyes flick over quickly to Auguste. "I didn't know what it was like for you, growing up. And you make Damen happy," he says, looking over at his friend and nodding. "Well, most of the time, at least. He hasn't been too happy this past week, you know."

"I figured," Laurent says, shoving away the pain of that statement so he could deal with it later, "but I was only trying to--"

Nikandros holds up a hand. "No, it's okay. I understand why you did that too. I misjudged you, Laurent, and I'm glad I could help get you out of your uncle's grasp. And help Auguste and Nicaise get out from under him, too," he says, blushing a little. Laurent looks over at Damen, amazed, and Damen just smiles and shrugs.

"Anyway, Nik did a great job at his first ever con and planted that information in Govart's little rat brain, and we knew that Govart would run straight to Uncle with it," Auguste continues. "And thankfully he's as predictable as he is stupid, and they all ran right into our trap."

"And the soldiers?" Laurent asks. 

"Our old comrades from our time in the regiment," Damen says. "They were more than happy to help out. And I talked to Makedon, our old captain, who was pleased as punch to launch a raid on the Regent's mansion and take credit for bringing him down. He'll probably be getting a promotion for that."

"I can't believe you guys went through all of that trouble for me," Laurent murmurs. Auguste looks at Laurent with one of his patented disappointed older brother faces.

"We love you, Laurent," Auguste says as he pushes himself up from the floor. "But you can be so dense, sometimes. Come on, Nicaise. It's been a long day, and we should get some sleep."

"But I want to stay with Laurent," Nicaise says, grabbing onto Laurent's shoulders as Auguste works to pries him off.

"We'll spend all day tomorrow together, okay baby brother?" Laurent says, as Auguste finally gets a hold on Nicaise and lifts him off of Laurent's lap. Laurent sees Nikandros smile, which he's pretty sure he's never done before in his presence, as he watches Auguste grapple with Nicaise. "I promise. I just need to talk to Damen for a minute."

"I'm not a baby," Nicaise says, smiling as Auguste hoists him up.

"You're definitely not," Auguste says, staggering with a little more force than necessary under his weight. "Let's go, giant brother."

"Oh! Laurent! I learned what those horses are called! They're Clydesdales!" Nicaise calls back, before Nikandros shuts the door behind them, leaving Laurent and Damen alone in front of the fire.

"Do I even want to know?" Damen asks, smiling.

Laurent smiles back and reaches for Damen's hand, but falters. Damen sees the aborted movement and reaches over, taking Laurent's hand in his own.

"So," he says, rubbing his fingers over Laurent's knuckles soothingly, "that was something."

"Damen, I--"

"How much of my speech did you hear?" Damen interrupts gently.

"I heard you insult the crowd," Laurent says, "and I saw them getting ready to riot against you. But then Uncle was dragging me away, and there were swords--"

"Let me tell you what the rest of it said," Damen says. "I worked on it all week. It was pretty much my only job, actually. Auguste and Nik took care of everything else, because I was such a mess."

Laurent sags, but Damen is relentless. "After I insulted everyone by telling them that you were better than all of them put together, I went on to say that I knew there were lots of people who were excited to meet my new fiancé. That was the reason for the ball, after all. But I told them that there was only one person in the world who could fill that role, someone who was very likely somewhere in the audience that night--a thief who had stolen my heart from almost the first moment I laid my eyes on him. And if he didn't want to be the one who stood beside me then there would be no other, because I couldn't imagine my life without him in it. I couldn't imagine looking at anyone else and thinking they were the most brilliant, beautiful, stubborn and exasperating person in the world and know that I wanted to spend every second of every day with them.

I know why you did what you did, Laurent. Auguste told me about the ultimatum your uncle gave you, how he threatened Nicaise, everything. Don't think I can't see what your intentions were. But now you know that mine haven't changed, and I must have your answer. Because my question to you is the same as it was the first time I asked you." 

"You still haven't, though," Laurent says. 

"Haven't what?"

"Haven't asked me. You were supposed to ask me in the morning, but I--" Laurent stops, his heart a heavy piece of lead in his chest.

"But you were gone," Damen finishes for him, reaching up to cup Laurent's cheek, "because it was the only way that you knew to save me. You tried to break my heart because you knew that was the only way I wouldn't come after you and put myself at more risk. You even sent your brothers away so that you could save me from your uncle's ambitions. Laurent, I--" he stops, and gets on one knee. Laurent can hardly believe that he's actually doing this, almost wants to laugh at how delightfully silly it all is except he can't ignore how much he wants this, needs this from him.

"Laurent Rabat, or Laurent de Vere, or Laurent, just Laurent, just you. You _are_ the most brilliant, beautiful, stubborn and exasperating person I've ever met and you should know by now that I don't want you any other way. I love you, Laurent, and I can't imagine spending my life with anyone except you. Will you do me the honor of--"

"Yes," Laurent says, because he can't help it anymore, because he can't listen to Damen say one more ridiculously sweet thing to him, because he's been wanting to say it with all of his heart since that night Damen first asked him, "yes, yes, of course the answer is yes, Damen. It was always yes."

And then Laurent leans in, pressing his lips against Damen's and he can feel Damen smiling against him, and Laurent knows that he's smiling too and their laughter is contagious and soon they have to break away from each other because the joy that they feel is too much for a kiss to contain. For a moment they just stay close to each other, resting their foreheads together and letting the fire warm them, content with just being in each other's presence.

"You still didn't let me ask, you know," Damen says, running a hand through Laurent's hair.

"I know. I guess you'll just have to keep trying," Laurent says, leaning into the hypnotic touch of Damen's fingers. "I love you too, Damen."

"I know," Damen says, giving him a cocky grin that makes his blood run hot. Laurent can't help the small burst of laughter that bubbles up out of him, doesn't even try to stop it. 

"I can't believe you really said all of those things to everyone. They are never going to forgive you for it."

"You forget, I'm a Duke now," Damen says, "or I will be soon, once everything gets cleared up in the courts. And then you will be too. Those people will be back in our drawing room in a few months like nothing happened, and they'll chalk up everything to some sort of excessive sentimentality on my part, I'm sure. Maybe they'll even spin it into some sort of romantic brain rot." He pauses, for a moment, and looks at Laurent speculatively. "There is another option though, you know."

"Oh? And what's that," he says, hopelessly entranced.

"We could just leave," Damen says. "Not forever, but spending a few years traveling around the world might just get everyone's mind off of all of our drama."

"That sounds amazing," Laurent says, reaching over to give him a peck on the cheek, "but you know I can't leave my brothers for that long."

"I know," Damen says. "They would come with us, obviously. And Nikandros too, if you two could promise not to kill each other. He's grown quite fond of Nicaise this past week."

"And Auguste, if I don't miss my guess," Laurent grumbles, and then sits back. "Would you really want that? All five of us just gallivanting around Europe for a year?"

"Laurent," Damen says, brushing back Laurent's hair behind his ear, "first of all, that sounds amazing. But even if it didn't, as long as we're together I don't care what we do. We can stay here and weather the storm if you want or we could move to Antarctica, it doesn't matter to me."

"As long as we're together," Laurent repeats, and Damen smiles back as he pushes him down into the bedding by the fire.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry but I am NOT paying for any dental appointments for you people just because you got cavities from reading this sickeningly saccharine ending.
> 
> I don't know if this is gauche to say but I'm really proud of this thing, not just that I actually wrote a novel length work but that I actually finished it and shared it! That's such a huge accomplishment for me. I hope that everyone who made it this far had as much fun reading it as I had writing it (although hopefully with less hair pulling and teeth gnashing). You guys are the best and I probably would have never done this at all without this wonderful community.


	12. The Men From UNCLE

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you wanna do this right and get the whole experience, listen to [this music](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4D5r_8FBhmk) while you're reading this.

Damen wakes up at the first light tap at the door, and his eyes swing over to the clock. It was two fifteen in the morning, and as the tapping gets louder and more insistent Laurent begins to stir next to him. Carefully extracting himself from underneath Laurent's weight he gets up and throws a robe on and opens the door, more than a little perturbed.

"What is it, Jeeves?" He asks blearily.

"There's someone to see you," Jeeves answers, equally tired. He must have been roused from bed, and Damen mentally notes than he'll have to get the poor old man some sort of gift to apologize once he figures out what's going on. "In the drawing room. It's urgent."

"It must be. I'll be right there," Damen says, and Jeeves stops him.

"It's for both of you," he says, nodding towards the dark room. "You and Master Laurent both."

Only taking the time to throw on robes over their bed clothes, Damen and Laurent make their way down to the drawing room. One of the lamps is lit, and Damen can see the figure of a woman at the other end of the room, dressed in riding leathers. She looks like an assassin out of a fairy tale, but as soon as she turns and faces the two of them Damen instantly drops to one knee, and Laurent follows quickly.

"Your highness," he says, and hears Laurent murmur the same next to him. They glance at each other quickly, but Laurent's expression betrays nothing besides surprise and the vestiges of sleep.

"Rise, please," she says, indicating that they should stand in a formal gesture that looks remarkably silly contrasted with the clothes she's wearing. "I think we can dispense with pleasantries during a secret midnight rendezvous."

"Princess Alberta," Damen says carefully, "would you like us to call for some tea, or--"

"No, no," she says, waving off the offer and sitting down heavily on a chair and gesturing for the two of them to do the same. She takes out a flask and takes a quick drink from it before offering it to them. "Drink?"

"No, thank you," they say in unison, and she smirks at them.

"What can we do for you, your highness?" Damen asks as politely as he can muster. He would hardly believe that something like this was actually happening, except his dreams were never quite this exciting.

"I'm here because I wanted to see the two Dukes of Akielos for myself, see why on earth any two people should make such a disturbance at my mother's court as the two of you did." She regards them levelly. "I think I can see the reason quite clearly now, though."

"Surely you didn't call on us in the middle of the night to lecture us about court," Laurent says. "And in costume, to boot."

"I didn't," she says, sitting back and crossing her legs. "In fact I have much more important things to worry about than court, and that's the real reason why I'm here. I wanted to get your measure before talking to you."

"And how have you found us, besides sleep deprived?" Laurent asks her, and Damen reaches over and squeezes his hand in warning.

But the Princess just smiles warmly. "Laurent Akielos, né de Vere, né Rabat. Formerly one of the best safe crackers working in London, if his uncle's testimony is to be believed. Now turned to a life of philanthropy, using his husband's extensive fortune to found schools and orphanages for the working poor of St. Giles. Married under quite scandalous circumstances to the Duke of Akielos, a highly decorated captain in the British Army, renowned for his excellent military strategy and proficiency with a sword, but perhaps most well known for being cut out of his father's will by his brother, who used a forged document to claim himself as the sole heir when their father died."

"It wasn't forged, he just found an older will--" Damen starts.

"I know what you've told everyone, Lord Damianos," she says, cutting him off. "And your loyalty to your brother is admirable, if a bit naive. I'm not interested in any of that. What I am interested in, however, is the frankly impressive list of skills that the two of you possess. You're quite a cunning pair."

"What's the job?" Laurent asks, and Damen looks over at his husband, surprised. Princess Alberta only laughs though, and then reaches over to a bag where she grabs a folder and throws it at Laurent.

"The crown jewels have been stolen. I want you two to get them back."

Damen and Laurent look at each other, and Laurent's eyes are sparkling.

"It has been quiet around here lately," he says, and Damen knows they've already agreed to do this.

****

"We're going to need a team," Laurent says. "Having a con artist on this job wouldn't go awry."

"And I suppose you're going to want a pickpocket as well," Damen says. "He's only thirteen, Laurent. We can't possibly bring him along."

"We can't leave him," Laurent says, winding his arms around Damen's neck and pressing his lips against his throat. "And he'll be positively furious if we go without him."

"You're probably right," Damen says, swaying under the gentle attention of Laurent's mouth, "but right now I'd agree to pretty much anything you asked of me."

"How about this, then," Laurent says, looking over at Damen through heavily lidded lashes, "I think we should go back to bed, but I expect I'm much too wound up to go back to sleep right now."

"Honestly I don't think I could go back to sleep if I tried," Damen says as he picks Laurent up in his arms and brings him back to their room.

****

"It's in his top pocket, left hand side," Nicaise says, studying his nails. "Don't _look_ , you idiot."

"How do you know?"

"That you're an idiot?" Nicaise asks with faux sweetness. "I've lived with you for three years, so I've had plenty of time for observation--"

"Nicaise," Damen says, a warning in his voice.

Nicaise just huffs. "I've been doing this since I was three, Damen. I promise you, I know what I'm doing."

"Okay," Damen says, the slightest tinge of fear creeping up his spine, "but you can't tell--"

"I won't tell him," Nicaise says, getting up from their hiding spot with all the gleeful exuberance of youth. "I'll be right back."

"Nicaise," Damen says, and stops. He doesn't have anything to say to him, but he's worried, and Nicaise must sense that because he rolls his eyes theatrically and walks back over.

"I'll be fine," he says, giving Damen a quick hug. "And...for what it's worth I don't think you're an idiot."

"I know," Damen says, ruffling his hair. Nicaise scowls and sets it back to rights but as he's walking towards their mark Damen can see that he's smiling. 

****

"You're a fool if you think I'm going to tell you anything," the man sneers.

Laurent shrugs. "I've been called worse things than a fool. But I think you will tell us what we want to know." Laurent reaches inside of his pocket and pulls out the necklace that Nicaise had snatched earlier in the day--something he was going to have words with Damen about later--and waves it in front of the man's face. His eyes go wide and his hands fly to his pockets, confirming that his treasure is gone.

"Okay, I'll tell you everything!" He says, reaching for the necklace. Laurent is too fast, though, and he moves it out of the man's reach.

"Tell me what you know about the woman with the eye patch," Laurent says, and watches as the man's eyes go wide in fear. "Tell me--"

And before Laurent can even blink he hears a whirring sound and a knife is embedded in the man's eye, killing him instantly. He drops to the ground and Laurent whirls around, looking for the knife thrower, but the square is empty.

****

"Charls," Laurent says, stepping out of the shadows and stopping the man from closing up his shop. "I have a job for you."

"You know I'm always happy to help, your grace," Charls says, beaming, completely unperturbed by the sudden appearance of a Duke in front of his shop. "What is it this time? A new suit for court, perhaps?"

"Not quite," Laurent says, hiding his blush and giving Charls a stack of drawings. Charls flips through them quickly, only showing the faintest hint of surprise before looking at them more closely through the technical eye of an expert.

"I can do this," he says, and then cocks an eyebrow at Laurent, "and it wouldn't be the first time I've made something like this, either."

"Wonderful," Laurent says, gritting his teeth and imagining all the ways in which he will be taking his revenge on Damen, who had refused to come with him on this errand. "I need them in three days time."

"Three days?" Charls says, and now his eyes widen in the surprise that Laurent had expected to see earlier. "Of course it's technically possible, your grace, but it will mean--"

"Here's your payment," Laurent says, reaching into his coat and plunking the large, heavy sack of coins in Charls' hands. "With the other half to come upon completion."

It only takes seconds for Charls to weigh the coins against whatever protestations he had. 

"I'll see you in three days, then," Charls says, smiling and opening back up the door to his shop.

****

"I really don't know about this," Auguste says, wringing his hands together. "It doesn't look that valuable..."

"Trust me, it's legit," the man says, winking at him. "I'm giving you this good deal because you look like you could use some good luck, friend. What do you say, eh? Listen, I'll go to five pounds, but that's the best I can do."

"Oh...alright," Auguste says, smiling warmly. "I'll take it. My brothers can find their own dinner for the next few weeks, right?"

"Right," says the man, cackling as he hands over the necklace. As soon as the goods exchange hands the man excuses himself and bolts out the door, and Auguste looks at the gaudy looking necklace that he had just spent two months rent on.

"Bit on the flashy side, isn't it?" Laurent says, waltzing up to him. Auguste laughs and hands over the necklace, and Laurent looks at it for a moment before carefully stowing it in his jacket. "I bet he's going to feel a fool when he realizes he just sold the Queen's necklace to a stranger for ten pounds."

"Five," Auguste says proudly. "I talked him down."

"Of course you did," Laurent says, smiling, and together the two brothers leave the tavern.

****

"He's a mute," Damen says with a broad Russian accent, "but I think you'll find he has...other qualities to recommend himself."

Laurent is kneeling in front of him, eyes downcast in submission, the slinky loincloth he's wearing doing very little to protect him from the chill of the room.

Torveld reaches down and tips Laurent's chin up and Damen can hear the sharp intake of breath when he meets Laurent's eyes--he's interested, then. Anyone would be; Laurent's beauty still takes his breath away sometimes, and that's after years of them being together. Still, he can't help the thrill of jealousy that courses through him, and Damen's hand tightens on the leash that's connected to the collar around Laurent's neck. Laurent's deep blue eyes flick towards him for the briefest second.

"It's a pity he doesn't talk," Torveld says, tipping Laurent's head to one side, and then the other. "He has a beautiful mouth."

"He may not talk," Damen grits out, "but I can assure you his mouth has other very exciting uses. Perhaps you'd like a taste?"

"Hmmm...perhaps I would. Have him sent to my room," Torveld says, and turns. Damen lets out a sigh of relief once his back is turned, and as Laurent rises gracefully to his feet he sends Damen a cool glance, and then winks.

****

"Are you almost done?"

"I am not, and you continually asking me that same question over and over isn't making me go any faster," Laurent snaps at Nikandros, snatching a different pick and setting it in the lock. The other three picks hadn't worked, but he had a better feeling about this one. 

"Leave him be, Nik," Auguste says. "He's going as fast as he can."

There's a sound of glass breaking behind him, and the faintest _pop pop pop_ of a gun from somewhere on the other side of the compound.

"It's not fast enough," Nik mutters as he and Damen set up to return fire. 

****

"Drop your weapon," the man says, pointing a knife at Laurent's neck, "or this one gets it."

"Okay. Don't hurt him," Damen says, dropping his sword instantly. It drops to the ground with a loud clatter, and one of the other three guards in the room jumps slightly at the sound.

"Damen, just take it and--"

"I told you to be quiet," the man holding Laurent says, digging the point in just a little deeper. A tiny dot of red wells up at the tip of his knife and trails down Laurent's neck, and Damen must have made a movement because the other three guards have their swords pointed directly at him, now.

"Next time you talk I'm cutting out your tongue," the man says, leaning closer to Laurent, "although with the way this large animal is acting, maybe I should try it out for myself first, see if it's really worth dying for--"

Eighteen seconds later all four men are dead on the ground, and Damen grabs Laurent's hand in his as they make their way out.

****

"Took you long enough," Damen says as Laurent opens the door, putting away his lock picks in his coat. "Get me out of these chains, would you?"

"Oh," Laurent says, taking in the sight before him. Damen is chained to the wall of the prison, arms above his head. His shirt is tattered, revealing his deliciously muscled chest beneath. There's a layer of grime on him, but even that can't diminish how beautiful he looks right now, all tied up and waiting for him like the prettiest present he's ever seen.

"I think we have a few minutes, don't we, sweetheart?" Laurent says, sauntering over to him and running a hand down his side. Damen doesn't flinch at the touch and a quick check shows that he's uninjured, and so Laurent presses down a little harder until he starts squirming uncomfortably.

"We don't, actually," Damen says, although his voice has already lowered and Laurent can hear the beginnings of arousal in it, despite himself, "but if you get me out of here I promise I'll let you tie me up later."

"Auguste and Nikandros put a _very_ heavy sleeping agent in those guards drinks," Laurent says, running his hand a bit lower, and he watches as Damen's eyes flutter closed as he palms his quickly hardening cock. "Are you _sure_ you want me to get you out of here right now?"

"Laurent," Damen sighs, and Laurent reaches in to kiss him.

****

"The two of you really did it," Princess Alberta says, looking from the crown jewels in her hands to the two dripping wet Dukes that had just crawled into her drawing room through the window that looked out over the lake. "And while I appreciate that you bathed apparently only moments before coming to visit me, this really could have waited."

"It really couldn't," Laurent says, dripping all over a chair that had been in her family since the thirteen hundreds. "We're going home. I mean this with all of the grace and civility your station deserves, your highness, but I hope we never have to see you again."

Alberta laughs and throws the jewels onto the cushion across from her, causing Damianos to wince. She'd have to get the story of how they recovered these jewels some day, but today was obviously not the best time, and so she waves them out. They both bow a mostly appropriate amount before walking out, and as they leave Damianos puts a hand on the small of his husband's back and leans over to whisper something in his ear, and even from here she can see the blush creep up Laurent's neck and ears.

Yes, she'd definitely have to get their story one day. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't help my dumb ideas sometimes I'm sorry


End file.
